Irritable Grizzly Adams
by caligula42
Summary: New Moon AU. Edward did more than just leave Bella in the woods five years ago. Time goes on as Bella struggles to make a new life without him. What happens when they are accidentally reunited? What was the real lie that Edward told? What will Bella do?
1. This Morning I am Born Again

**AN: These characters are Ms. Meyers. The world is my oyster.**

**Also (shameless begging) this is the longest piece of pseudo-fiction I have ever written. I would greatly appreciate some feedback (i.e. 'good,' 'great,' 'boring,' 'how can your computer let you write this?'), because it's one thing for me to write this, and another for you folks to sit down and read it. Thanks muchly.**

Mornings seemed to come earlier in the mountains. There was something about the air, a sudden, waking stillness that seemed to announce the coming dawn before the sky had noticeably lightened. It was almost as if there was a sudden electric current that pulsed through the scrags, under the rushing falls, and down into the deepest darkest places bringing all the beasts that slumbered back to life, filling the still air with silent expectation.

It was so much different than what she was used to, although, after everything else, she supposed there was nothing she should really be accustomed to anymore, anyway.

_Get up, Bella,_ she told herself.

Even in the darkness of the pre-dawn she could not afford to spare a moment of luxury, as it were, lying in the downy embrace of her all weather sleeping bag spread over the insufficient comfort of a thin foam cushion and the lumpy and indifferent forest floor. She had almost twenty miles to go today, some of it with significant elevation gain, before she would meet with Dr. Reyerson at Base Camp to report her latest findings. The following day they would hike the remaining fifteen miles out together and submit their data to the lab at the university. Then they would both be off to the environmental conference in Anchorage.

Which basically meant that after six weeks in the woods darting wolves, weighing them, drawing their blood, and in some cases feeling their balls, Bella would be dressing up to show off her more feminine charms while sporting her most genuine lost puppy face at the gala reception. In short, she would essentially be used as bait to allow her program director to beg for more funding from the crustier and more lecherous benefactors of the university.

That was probably the main reason Dr. Reyerson admitted her into the study, Bella reasoned grimly. She had tits and a vagina – a rarity in the scientific research world – and would probably be the only member of her species under fifty sporting these two accessories that would be attending these gatherings – a novelty to the university's investors. Who would say no, then, to giving additional funding and endowment money when it meant that one could spend a few nights a year trying live up the long lost glory days by attempting to booze up a young coed and look down her cleavage? Clearly the "P" in Reyerson's doctorate stood for "pimp."

Bella cursed her breasts.

Groaning softly, she undid the double zip of her sleeping bag, letting the cool, dry mountain air bathe over her sleep-laden form. The grogginess receded, and was quickly replaced by the urgent protesting of her bladder. Shoving Jake out of the way, she crawled out of her bag and lurched to her feet. He grumbled, sniffed, and then curled his hairy bulk into an impossibly small lump for a canine of his size and returned immediately to sleep. At least he had the courtesy to relinquish her boots.

_The simple life of a dog_, Bella mused as she reached for her headlamp.

It would be much easier to just pee wherever and whenever she felt like it, instead of risking life and limb in the Montana backcountry looking for a suitable bush to relieve her self behind. The light just meant she wouldn't be peeing on anything that actually belonged to her. It hadn't happened yet, but, knowing her luck, it would if she weren't careful.

Once the call of nature was answered Bella returned to camp and pulled out the tiny white fuel burner from her pack to begin one of her newer rituals. She was no stranger to caffeine, now. Where once she would have been up for days after half a can of soda, coffee was now practically her entire chemical makeup. Perhaps it was the by product of several long years of double loaded classes and raging insomnia, or perhaps it was something simpler, a necessary habit and a departure from the clean blooded young innocent she had once been. Whatever the reason, it was hot and bitter and burned her throat with an angry, wakeful fire, and settled with an iron resolve in the pit of her empty belly.

Sipping from a steaming metal cup, she let her unlaced boots clomp noisily on the bare earth as she shuffled back to her sleeping bag. By now Jake had managed to get almost all of his massive bulk wedged into the bottom of the bag – no mean feat for a dog that weighed easily on the upper side of two hundred pounds. She poked him with her booted toe.

"Gotta break camp, Jake."

_Muffled dog groan._

"Get your butt out of my bag Jake."

Another poke. A louder groan.

"C'mon you smelly bugger." Bella yanked on the bag. One massive paw shot out, snagging the zipper, making the metal teeth rattle in protest. Muttering about "second neuterings" in a less than sub-audible tone, Bella reached down and gave one final good heave and decanted the furry contents of her sleeping bag on the hard packed forest floor. The newly birthed spawn of down and nylon looked up at her with eyes full of deep betrayal before shaking himself thoroughly and opening his mouth to pant at her with a self-satisfied canine smirk.

_Stupid, super smart, free dog,_ thought Bella to herself.

She had gotten Jake the year she had moved out of the dorms. Working a part-time job and independent grants and scholarships had allowed her the ability to pay for a small one-bedroom apartment over one of the cafes on the main college drag. It was a nice place, but lonely in all the ways she never wanted.

The first night she slept there she had awoken screaming in the silence, her own ragged voice the only proof that she was still alive, that the dream hadn't finally killed her, after all. She spent the remainder of the night in the college library, curled up behind the reference stacks, rocking herself and listening to death metal on her ipod, desperately trying to keep her circling memories at bay. It didn't work. It never worked.

After that, she did not sleep at home nor did she sleep much at all. Her apartment became the place where she went to wash and change, a front for the human side of herself that she had abandoned. Acquiring Jake was a spur of the moment thing that happened as she was walking out of the mom and pop grocery store on the edge of town.

She had stopped to by toilet paper and somehow ended up taking home one of the puppies that a young girl had been giving away outside the door. There was something about the urgent, hairy, squirming mass of limbs the child held up to her that she just couldn't say "no" to; that, and the girl's earnest assurances that he wouldn't get too big, or eat all that much.

Looking at him now, he had all of the appearance of being a byproduct of a terrible backwoods experiment gone wrong. He was some sort of mix of Irish wolfhound and English mastiff (Bella had tracked down the owners of her rapidly mutating puppy once she noticed that his paws were bigger than her own hands) that had most likely spent a romantic evening with a timber wolf – which would explain the offspring in her possession's startling yellow eyes, distinctly un-doglike ruff, and overall hairiness. The howling that came later sealed the deal. He never barked.

Bella had named the puppy Jake in a sarcastic homage to the friend she no longer had – the one who inadvertently threw her on this latest path. Dogs were constants, she had reasoned, and although she had never asked for her erstwhile human friend's constancy – at least not in the way he had offered it to her – she knew it was that unspoken bond that had reshaped her into a being that could at least walk on her own two feet; and that she could at least give her heart to a dog even when she could never again give it to a man.

**Thoughts? Questions? Reviews are welcome and appreciated.**


	2. Black Eyes and Blunderbusses

Once she had finished her coffee, and made sure Jake was headfirst in his enormous bowl of food – she knew he was "supplementing" his diet - he often retreated into the darkness outside her camp light to the accompaniment of snapping and crunching, to return licking his chops with a distinctly wolfish grin on his face – but that didn't stop him from attacking her less glamorous offering of dry kibble as if it were the most gourmet of meals – Bella began the simple task of breaking camp.

She rolled her sleeping bag into its compression case and strapped it to her pack, followed by the (now cool) white fuel burner, its bottle, and Jake's almost instantly empty collapsible bowl. Rolling her tongue around her teeth, she realized she didn't want to spend the morning hiking through the woods with dragon-breath, so she got out her toothbrush to keep her doubly occupied while she checked that both her guns were clean and loaded.

Firearm maintenance was a good habit for any gun owner, but in her case, it was a necessity. While she kept the double-barreled shotgun mostly for its ability to handle the tranquilizer darts she used on the wolves for the study, she also made it a practice to keep it loaded with slugs when she was doing any extended hiking through the backcountry. Bears generally wouldn't bother humans as a rule, but that was no insurance against the possible exception.

The .357 magnum she kept strapped to her hip, and within hand's reach at night, was another precautionary nod to that potential after a conversation with Dr. Reyerson. He had told her when he accepted her into the study that she should "get a shotgun for the bears, and pistol for herself when that didn't stop them." He didn't have to explain any further. The incident with the wildlife photographer up in Alaska was still fresh in her memory at that point, and so Bella was able to both buy and learn to shoot her firearms with nary a twitch.

She grimaced around her toothbrush looking down at the shotgun in her lap. The barrel glinted dully up at her in the pale morning light, deadly and purposeful, cradled in the battered wood of the plain stock. Bella let her fingers trace along the dual triggers, remembering how the tension used to pulse through her before she took a shot, full of the tingling desire to hit her target cleanly, and the anticipation of the explosion. Darts didn't shoot anything like slugs. There was a powder charge, sure, but nothing like the amount needed to propel a three inch hunk of lead any distance – that would tear the more fragile apparatus of the tranquilizer apart.

She had practiced with both before hitting the field – until she, and Dr. Reyerson, could be reasonably assured that she wouldn't be shooting any of the members of the fragile timber wolf population in the eye, and that the odds were more likely to be on her side, instead of any wayward carnivore's.

Thinking about her self as a member of the great wildlife food chain . . . those were times that she felt her humanity most intensely. It was ironic, in a way, the thing she was trying to protect – her mortality – was the thing she had once wanted most to give to one of the most dangerous kind of predators she had ever met. Something inside her clenched, and she whipped out her toothbrush brusquely and spit, trying to clear out the sourness that wasn't even a taste.

Another morning begun without eating.

Most times she couldn't. It was then that her semi-waking self had the greatest hold over her carefully cultivated composure. Even the thought of food had her stomach rolling in waves as her psyche dizzily tried to reorient itself around the persona that pushed the nightly dreams back into their shadowy corners.

It had gotten easier over the years, sure, even after all the aching mornings when she felt it never could, after all the nights she had spent sobbing against her windowsill, her arms reaching out into the darkness, waiting for the cold hand that would grasp her fingers and mend her broken heart. The touch never came, and she remained unhealed.

Now at least, in the dry, pale morning light, so unlike the sullen and begrudging mornings in the Forks mists, Bella found that not every shape or taste or smell was a memory waiting to knock her flat and leave her weeping with the pain of newly opened old wounds. This life that she had made for herself, so unlike that of Isabella Swan, Police Chief's Daughter, and Nice Little Girl, later to be Poor Little Thing, and the subject of many sibilant hissing whispers, had no place for those memories – no dangerous mementos, and even alone in the rugged Montana backcountry, among all of its inherent dangers, she felt safer than she had in many years.

With both guns clean and loaded, Bella called Jake away from the underbrush he was face deep in – _so very fascinating_ – and helped him into his own harness. Jake took his own role in their expedition very seriously, and, after some initial protest, was unfailingly on his all time best behavior once he received his burden of electronic gear and the larger water bottles.

Once on task, he never so much as offered to pull on his lead, or break free entirely to go crashing madly into the underbrush as Bella knew he would do in an unencumbered state. This was no small mercy to her, as there was no way in hell she could ever hope to hold on to a two hundred plus pound hairy canine tornado bent on destruction. She knew because she had tried.

A black eye and a torn rotator cuff later, Bella tried a little research on the internet for dog training and came up with the harness solution. Apparently, most dogs did better with "jobs" and having a sort of work uniform helped their dog brains realize they had a task to perform and needed to focus. These were all things that she told Jake through gritted teeth the first time she tried to put the harness on him: he begged to differ. Bella added some stitches on her chin to go with the fading black eye, and Jake, thoroughly chastised after the wrestling match with his human that left them both sticky with her blood (his rock hard head split open the point of her jaw) accepted the harness with due grace.

Now he was almost insulted if they went anywhere in the wilderness without his gear. Jake still enjoyed being a terror on campus, pretending to lunge against his leash at tiny shrieking coeds while Bella took him on their twice daily prowl to and from the science building, but once his massive paws hit the dirt instead of pavement, he expected to be working, and was dubiously resentful if Bella didn't acknowledge his importance to her.

In that respect, she supposed he was most like his human counterpart: cocky, self-assured, and excessively impulsive. Not to mention excessively hairy and completely food driven. Bella smirked, looking down at the eagerly pointed ears of her canine companion as he stood proudly at attention waiting for her command. Glancing around the small clearing that had been her camp for the night, Bella looked for anything she might have forgotten before slinging her pack over her shoulders and stepping back on the trail, shotgun in hand.

**Thoughts? These chapters will get longer, eventually. They just keep breaking themselves up this way.**


	3. Don't Wanna Be Your Monkey Wrench

As Bella hiked the sun rose pale and bright over the rugged mountainside. It cast an optimistic light through the canopy, throwing snatches of her shadow, tall and striding and sure, before her on the trail. Again she marveled at the difference, the crisp openness of the forestland here – the dry, rocky ground, the long needled trees that showed their bark proudly – all in stark contrast to the damp mossy tomb of the woods surrounding Forks; the misty and ancient sullenness of the air that crept through her locked window at night, like a plague, like a ghost, and left her sodden and sticky in the weak morning light.

Here she felt clean and renewed; and while she still felt the taint of her dreams, the unbidden memories, they remained just that: memories - for she no longer lived amid the mementos of what she had had, and what she had lost. Living in Forks was like living in a graveyard.

Striding purposefully down the trail in the cool, thin mountain air, Jake padding bright eyed and eager beside her, Bella felt the weight of her nightly dreams lift and fade, They never seemed to be as potent, or as brutal, as they would be if she had tried to sleep in her own bed; she thought it had something to do with the fact that there was no connection, no mental association with her nightly dreams and this new aspect of her life. The Bella Swan she had been in Forks never shot a gun, never worked in a lab, never slept alone under the stars.

This was the life she had made, alone, after her old existence had collapsed and shattered around her. She supposed she had the real Jake – Jacob – to thank for that. He had shown her friendship when her grief had made her an outcast, listened to her as she had tried to talk her broken pieces back together . . . and then he had left her, too.

She didn't blame him, not really. It was just . . . when he found the completeness that had tantalized and eluded her, she couldn't bear to be near him anymore. The day her told her, the day he finally knew what it was to fall in love, she saw the pity she had seen so many times shine in his own eyes – the realization of the true magnitude of her heartbreak.

"I'm sorry, Bells," was all he could say. "I didn't mean . . . " and his voice trailed off lamely as he tried to figure out what he could say to the woman he had always thought had been his true love. And of course he didn't mean anything by falling in love with someone else. He just happened to look up one day into the blue eyes of his future, and felt his destiny shift, and pull him away from the young girl he had already told he had given his heart.

Bella had stopped him before he could build up steam, and get into a conversation she knew neither of them wanted repeated.

"You don't have to be sorry for anything." She was surprisingly calm as she put down the plug wrench and straightened herself out of the engine bay of the Mustang. "I never asked you for . . . anything . . . more than this. And I sure as hell never asked you to wait around for something that we both knew would never happen."

That probably didn't come out so well. Jake's eyes narrowed a little bit, and he huffed disapprovingly through his nose. She rushed to explain.

"You know what I mean. I'm not whole, Jake. I couldn't love you that way even if I had wanted to." For some reason, it was easier to talk about then, when she knew that Jacob wasn't going to try to convince her to give in and take him anyway – that her pain didn't matter.

"That's bullshit, Bells, and you know it."

Bella laughed, surprising them both.

"Someone's got a big ego," she snorted. "Yeah, Jake, I made all of this up. I was just waiting for you to tell me you had found your true love so I could pine after you while I lived in Charlie's attic and eating fish fry for the rest of my life."

"That's not what I meant" Jake protested, full of the ebullience of true love, "You'll find someone and –"

"Jake!" She cut him off, all traces of laughter gone. "NO. Just . . . drop it, okay?"

He looked at her for the first time, then, and for the first time, he really saw her, not through the eyes of an infatuated teenager, but as an adult, and as a friend. She had weathered so much, in so little time: disruption, disaster, death. The Bella that had come to Forks and shone so brightly with a love that he could never accept, or comprehend, was gone, replaced by a somber eyed young woman who only looked tired and pale, and diminished. And, for the first time, he truly realized just how damaged she really was.

Up until that point, Jacob had never really accepted that Bella had truly loved one of _them_. He thought her affections were only a by-product of their deadly allure, and that her subsequent grief after their sudden departure as a sort of withdrawal from whatever spell they had her under. The fact that she had told him that she was in love with one of them made no difference, and it had been easier to believe that she could one day love him if what she had felt was some sort of sick infatuation.

He had tried to prove it to her once. They had been sitting out in the garage, looking at the rusted hulk of the car Bella had found with grass growing through it out behind the Cope's old place outside of town. She had talked Jake into taking a look at it for her, and after he had decided that all it really needed was a little bit of welding, primer, and all new rubber and gaskets, he helped her to tow it back to his dad's place so they could pull it apart, clean it up and put it back together again. It hadn't hurt that it was a straight bodied 1969 Mustang Fastback that Old Man Cope had driven in his glory days before parking it in the shed out behind the barn to become a piece of lawn art. It also didn't hurt that it meant that Bella would be spending the rest of her afternoons with him getting sweaty and grimy while he taught her the ins and outs of a muscle car engine bay.

What Jacob couldn't understand was why a soft, clumsy girl like Bella would want to take on a project that was so distinctly unfeminine. In his rather naïve and hormonal state he convinced himself that she was looking for an excuse to spend more time with him now that the other was out of the way – that it had been just a high school crush after all. It didn't matter that he could still see the real Bella in Sam Uley's head, broken, sightless, and alone in the darkness. All he knew was that Bella had sought him out, and she was now sitting next to him in his dad's garage, drinking warm strawberry soda, with a small crooked smile on her pale face as she looked at the big metal thing that symbolized some new aspect of their fledgling relationship.

Unfortunately, while Bella saw the car as a chance to remake herself – to be an emblem of her self-reliance, Jacob saw it as a sign of her interest – like it was a big giant ring and she was proposing to him with it. So when she turned to him, with excitement shining out of her eyes for her new project, and placed her hand on his arm and opened her mouth thank him, he did the most logical thing he could think of, and lunged for her, smashing his lips to hers.

She gasped and stiffened at his touch, thinking, _Oh, shit, _which Jacob, in his innocence, interpreted as a sign of her enthusiasm, and grappled her to him.

For a moment, Bella was paralyzed. She had tried, for so long, to keep the memories of physical affection at bay, buried beneath the new exterior she was crafting for herself. But with Jake's warm arms around her, and the hot, wet pressure of his mouth on hers, the old sensations all came flooding back, roaring through her veins in protest to this flimsy attempt to mimic what she had felt before.

_It's not HIM! _Her heart screamed at the sacrilege._ It will never be him again. _

It was excruciating.

She couldn't speak, she couldn't move, the pain was too sudden, too much. And so she burst into tears. And they were not just any tears, they were giant, gasping, sick making sobs that poured out of her soul like lava and stopped Jake's lips against hers as effectively as if she had slapped him.

Clearly, not the response he was hoping for. In his mind, Bella should have been putting on a white dress and riding off into the sunset with him – but _crying?_ He was baffled. Was he disgusting? He didn't think so – she seemed like she liked him. This was mortifying: girls weren't supposed to cry when boys kissed them. They were supposed to squeal with delight and let the kisser stick their hands up their shirts. Jake was confused, embarrassed, and Bella was weeping like her dad and her dog both died when his mind (and libido) told him she should have been turning cartwheels; and so he did the only thing that any tender teenage boy would do in his situation: he got mad, and not just mad, but pissed, furious.

He threw his arms off her and jerked away, trembling with rage.

"What the hell, Bella?" Reason was quickly leaving the building. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Her face was turned away, hidden in her hair, and suddenly that made him mad, too. He shook her shoulder – rougher than he meant to, and he heard her teeth rattle. Something in her snapped. She whipped her head around, then, her eyes red and streaming, her face suddenly old with grief and hurt, and she let him have it.

"What's wrong with me? What's WRONG with me? I'll tell you what the FUCK is wrong with me, Jacob Black, since you seem to have missed the memo: my fucking heart is fucking BROKEN." Bella had had her limit. Heartbreak, abandonment, exile, and this new complication was too much. The words crowded in her mouth; they were poison, and she wanted to vomit them out.

"Everything I ever wanted is gone. Everything I thought I had was a lie. I can barely make myself get out of bed every day. I'm so miserable Charlie can't stand the sight of me. Everyone in this damn town looks at me sideways like I'm a fucking heart charity case. My life is fucked, Jacob." She stopped for a moment to take a breath; she was still halfway crying, and the words caught in her throat.

"And then you fucking kiss me."

"Bella, I – "

"Just shut up, Jake, let me finish." It felt good, the words hurt, they tore at her emptiness, but with each word she spoke, she started to feel just a little lighter, like she was no longer being crushed.

"You kiss me, like nothing's wrong, like I'm Sleeping Beauty and now I'm just gonna jump up and yell 'Gotcha there guys! Fooled you! That whole thing with . . . that Cullen boy was just a joke. I just can't get enough attention."' Her voice was high and simpering, girly, and full of suppressed hysteria.

"Fuck. You. Jake." They stared at each other, both livid, Jake petrified with shame and embarrassment, Bella shaking with fury.

"You have the balls to think I'll just get over that, that I could lose the love of my life and just move on? Do you even KNOW me?" He stared at her, his angry frustrated breaths hissing through his teeth.

She continued, softer then.

"Do you know what it's like to be told that you're not enough? That you're not wanted, by the one you want more than anyone – anything else? Do you?"

"I . . . no." He wanted to – not to feel that, but to know. So he could fix her, and keep her, and show her what it was to love someone _human_.

"He left. He told me those things and he left. It killed me. I _died_, Jake." It sounded like hyperbole, but it was true. There was nothing left of the romantic Bella, after that. All the passion for life, and for _him_, that she had felt had withered and died that day in the woods; and she left the shriveled corpse of it somewhere on the forest floor when Sam picked her up and brought her home.

"I can't love anyone like that anymore, not after that." Her voice was barely a whisper, and the tears welled up and spilled out of her eyes until she was almost blinded by them. It hurt, _Oh, God it hurt_, to say those things, to remember, to know that though it still beat for blood, her heart would never beat for love again.

"_I'm_ sorry, Jake. I'm sorry I can't be that girl for you. I'm sorry I can't be that girl for _me_." She was curled up in a ball as she said it, and her body slowly began to rock in the effort to prevent the sobs that threatened to tear out of her aching throat. "It's ironic, really. I always wanted to be the romantic Jane Austen fairy tale kind of girl, and now here I am like Princess Buttercup in _The Princess Bride_, telling you 'I'll never love again.'"

She choked out a tearful laugh.

"You know what the sad thing is, though?" She wasn't really asking. "The sad thing is that it's true. It's gone. All my life I waited to grow up, and when he . . . left . . . he made it so no matter how long I live I can never be a woman."

_I can't_, she thought. _I'll never want that with anyone else._

That last confession proved to be a little too much for Jacob's silent mortification. His eyes twitched, and with a roar of frustration he picked up the open tray of socket wrenches and flung the contents against the far wall of the garage. He left the building so fast she barely heard the door slam.

"I'm sorry," she mouthed to the accusing silence. _That didn't go very well_.

Jake had come back eventually, sweaty and extremely dirty, as though he had run several miles uphill through a tree infested mud bank. Which he had. He was calmer, but he couldn't meet her eyes, and he blushed profusely as he stared at the floor and mumbled, "I'm sorry."

They never talked about it again.

Instead, they devoted themselves to the Mustang, spending the last months of the school year stripping the paint, welding in new sheet metal where they had to cut out rust; coating it in dark primer gray. Bella would never forget the triumph of the one early spring afternoon – one of those days where it rained an the sun shone at the same time – when Jake allowed her to bolt the heads back on when they replaced the last of the gaskets. They had shared warm sodas over their collective achievements, and Bella had told Jake she would come back the next day to help wire up the ignition and check the timing.

_Test drive, tomorrow, _she thought. _Commencing operation New Bella._

Except that was the night Jacob met his future, and the next day was the day Bella's life fell apart again, over a sparkplug wrench and a wiring diagram.

The sound of the engine as it fired to life was a hollow victory after that, and while she had managed to credibly fake her enthusiasm over the car's power and handling when she and Jake test drove it that afternoon, it was painfully bittersweet, as she knew another important part of her life had slipped away, beyond her reach.

She had dropped Jake off with a smile and a wave, and a promise to see his new girl, and driven her new old car home. Charlie's car wasn't yet in the driveway, so it made Bella's job a little easier to do. It was surprising, how small her life was, that it fit into one duffle bag. She let her hand drift over the windowsill, trying to tell herself that the faded scuffmarks she saw never came from any shoe, and gently touched the back of her rocking chair. This was the only goodbye that she would ever get to say to him on her own terms.

The note she left for Charlie simply said, _I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore. I will be safe. B. _She managed not to cry as she locked the door behind her.

The Mustang roared to life, and she backed out of the driveway, and took herself out of Forks for the last time.

It had been five years now. Five years since it all fell apart, and she had dug herself out of the dirt and left. It still hurt, but in the clear mountain air it was the ache of an old wound, and not the fresh burn of tearing grief. In her own way, she would live.

**Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?**


	4. Interview With a Mad Scientist

Dr. Reyerson was a crusty old bastard. He was one of the head Zoology professors at the university, and as a specialist in _canis lupis_ behavioral ecology was the chair of the Wolf Study. It was a project he had been working on for the past fifteen years as an ongoing examination of the effects of global climate change on the wolf population in the Rocky Mountain Range. As such, he was continually brought in contact with both sides of the environmentalist debate usually resulting in either accolades or accusations. Thus his tenure at the university was often punctuated by spectacular scuffles with the administrative board over the nature of the study he lead, as well as being the recipient of several prestigious awards in the greater scientific community. He was a rough and tumble champion of the environmentalist movement, without the polish of a lobbyist or celebrity – his contempt for that aspect of his field was both vehement, and outspoken. In other words, Dr. Reyerson was an extremely brilliant and dedicated scientist with a rather blatant problem with authority figures and a general disdain for the social elite.

He was also the hero Bella never knew she needed.

The first time she met Dr. Reyerson was at her entrance interview to the Wolf Study. She had been hooking Jake's leash to the porch railing of the bungalow that he had converted into a lab and resource center for the project. While she had been having a silent battle of wills with the still overly exuberant and subsequently destructive puppy iteration of Jake, trying to convince him not to tear down the porch – or barring that, not to eat it - the screen door slapped open and a steely haired, sharp eyed man barreled out at her.

Or at least, it seemed that way. He wasn't a tall man, but he seemed to take up the whole porch – his presence radiated out of him like a wall. Bella resisted the urge to step back - her previous experience with the supernatural suddenly seemed like a godsend: this man was only mortal, after all – and instead squared her shoulders and looked directly at the man who stared at her, unblinking, eyes piercing and intent, like a bird of prey.

"Dr, Reyerson, I presume?" She didn't smile, or hold out her hand, something about him suggested that would be an unwelcome familiarity, and instead buried her fingers in Jake's ruff, urging him to sit, and _for the love of heaven be still_. The older man nodded shortly.

"Swan." His voice was dry and brusque. She could see him take her in a matter of seconds, her faded, torn jeans, stained canvas jacket, her scraped, blackened mechanic's knuckles, before his gaze narrowed in on the profusion of limbs and hair that was Jake.

"Yes."

He turned back into the house, the door starting to swing shut after him.

"Bring your science experiment with you." He meant Jake -_ ohGod, ohshit, OhGod, mydemondogwilleathishouse. _The door was closing, and Bella, visualizing a flurry of helpless destruction, bills, lawsuits and her subsequent expulsion from the university, not to mention Jake's incarceration in the Big House For Dogs That Do All Things Depraved, took a deep breath and stepped through the door with her canine genetic disasterpiece in tow.

She followed him from the entryway into the main room of the house – an area that had once been a large open space but had since been rendered claustrophobic by a myriad of stacked boxes, piles of paperwork, and a jumble of electronic equipment. Mercifully, none of it seemed to interest Jake, who padded thoughtfully at Bella's side, his ears cocked and focused intently on the wiry form of the older man that preceded them.

He led them into a room located somewhere in the back of the house that was stuffed to the brim in a similar fashion with a large bank of radio equipment, several decrepit looking computers and a ratty old couch that sported a pillow and a rumpled blanket.

"Sit," he said, waving at the couch. Then, seeing her glance, "Don't mind the bedding– sometimes one of the interns or I have to sleep here."

She could feel him looking at her, sizing her up, picking her apart for flaws – looking for any girlish squeamishness. Bella sat, pulling the pillow onto her lap. The room had a sort of electronic mustiness to it, with an underlying hint of dog – or maybe it was wolf; it wasn't Jake, she was pretty sure: he had just had a bath, the day before he had run off and rolled in something that smelled as if it had clearly been long dead, prompting a battle of epic proportions between Bella and himself, and an evil looking garden hose with the end result being that he now smelled like her strawberry shampoo.

Dr. Reyerson seemed to see all this as he sat across from her, and she could see a slight crinkle at the corner of one eye as he looked at the massive, recalcitrant beast that now sat beside her. The silence was deafening.

_I can do this, _Bella thought to herself._ I've done much worse, I've faced much worse. _

"Why are you here?" Blunt, direct. His eyes were gray, Bella realized as she looked at him. Sharp, watchful.

"Because this is who I am." _Because I don't have anything else. _She gestured at herself, her mutant dog. "I don't date, I don't do the girl stuff, I work on my own car, I drink the beer I make at home, and I don't have any family."

Okay, so the last part was a little bit of a stretch, but for all intents and purposes it wasn't a complete lie. It just sounded better than "I have an emotionally retarded father, and a criminally negligent mother, and I got the hell outta Dodge before their indifference killed me."

Dr. Reyerson cocked a knowing eye at her.

"Parents dead?" The "not" may as well have been said aloud. _Shit, he's good._

"No . . . estranged. I haven't talked to either of them in almost four years." There had been one rather explosive phone conversation with Charlie about a month after she had left Forks, and another one, thankfully brief, with a tearful Renee. She had told the both of them in turn the truth: that she couldn't go on living with the life that she had been given. Bella had been surprisingly calm as she explained herself, only losing her patience once, when Charlie started looking for someone to blame.

"Is this about that damn Cullen boy?" He had yelled into the phone. "Goddamnit, Bella, I won't have you messing yourself up over some fool kid –"

"No, Charlie, this is about ME. It's about not sitting around doing what everyone else thinks is best and watching it fall down around me. In case you haven't noticed, that hasn't been working out so well."

But Charlie wasn't listening. He had built up some serious momentum and was threatening to go down to L.A. or wherever the hell that prick doctor and his asshole family was and give them a piece of his mind, when Bella got fed up once and for all and yelled, "FUCK YOU, DAD!" and slammed down the receiver of the payphone. Not the best way to say goodbye, but she was pretty sure she had gotten the point across.

Renee had been easier. Bella had lied through her teeth and told her that the collapse of her relationship made her realize she needed to follow her passions, and that she was joining a commune in Colorado. The actuality of it was that she had only made it as far as Seattle, and was living out of the rather spacious back seat of her car until she could scrape up enough money for an apartment – the hostels in Seattle were terrifying, even to her - but she knew that the best way to distract Renee from the obvious trouble she was in was to drop key words like "passion" and "spirituality" and that she was "searching for her inner goddess." Renee had accepted her explanation so completely, bursting into tears and blubbering about how she was so proud of her baby girl, that Bella began to wish that she had said that stuff to Charlie – hell, he would have hung up on _her_.

That had been the last time she talked to them. At first, Bella had told herself that it hurt too much to remain in contact with the life she had tried to leave behind, but as time went on, she began to realize the truth of her deliberate separation: she was angry; angry at the father who stood by as she fell apart, who could not forgive her for her grief, who persisted in thrusting her at the local boys, like a prize lamb going for auction; and angry at the mother who had let her go so easily, who thought nothing of leaving _her_, as she often had, even when Bella was a young girl, while she gallivanted around the country with younger men, chasing after her fading youth. But eventually Bella began to realize that there was just something inherently _wrong_ with the way she had been raised, and that remaining in contact with her parents was part of the reason why she still hurt.

It wasn't that she was holding a grudge, not really, it was just that Bella was beginning to realize that she should be mad, that being batted around like a human ping pong ball between all of her parents baggage and insecurities was part of the reason why _his _leaving had hurt her so much in the first place. Had she felt worthy, had she felt secure in the care of the two people who had brought her into this world Bella would probably have taken Edward's sudden abandonment of her as merely the most heartbreaking thing that had ever happened in her short life, and not the validation of every suspicion of inadequacy that she had ever felt.

And so she sat, in Dr. Reyerson's office, clutching a musty pillow while her dog looked up at her with his yellow wolf's eyes, and the good doctor himself sat across from her, thumbing through her paperwork, holding a piece of her future in check as he considered her application. He seemed to see all this flash through Bella's mind as he looked at her, as if the entirety of her life was a slide, and he was looking at her through an invisible microscope.

"I'd say you're a runaway, but it's none of my business." Dr. Reyerson leaned forward then, conspiratorially. "As long as you don't make it my business."

She blinked at him, uncomprehending.

"You're in, Swan."

Bella's mouth dropped open, this wasn't quite how she expected her Masters study interview to go. "I – "

"Don't thank me yet. Meet me at the trailhead tomorrow at five am." He handed her a highlighted topographical map. "Bring your dog. Leave your baggage."

Thus concluded her interview with the enigmatic champion of the Rocky Mountain timber wolf population.

The next morning she showed up at the trailhead with a grumpy Jake in tow, half an hour early after spending a sleepless night double and triple checking her gear. Dr. Reyerson arrived a few minutes later driving a beat up old Toyota pickup that seemed to sprout either spotlights or antennas from any available horizontal surface. Dragging his equipment over to where she stood by the car he let out a low whistle.

"Lordy, Swan, you keep surprising me." It was still fairly dark, so Bella couldn't quite be sure of his expression.

"Why's that?" It was really too early, and she hadn't had enough coffee to deal with any needling.

"You show up at my door with that canine monstrosity, skinny, grubby as all hell, not giving a crap, and you tell me you turn wrenches on this?" He gestured to the Mustang. Even primer gray, and obscured by the half-light, it was impressive. "What's this thing got under the hood?"

Her answer was automatic, with an underlying hint of pride, "A 428 Cobra Jet, headers, and a three inch dual exhaust."

He whistled.

"Jesus Christ, Swan, are you sure you're not a man?"

Bella's laughter rang out in the clear morning air.

"Things would probably be a hell of a lot easier if I were, to tell you the truth."

Dr. Reyerson snorted.

"You keep telling yourself that, Swan, and I'll be right behind you, turning my head and coughing, and telling you that you're full of shit." He reached over and clapped her on the shoulder.

"Now let's get going, before we start holding hands and talking about our feelings."

Bella followed behind him obediently as they stepped on to the trail.

"Swan?" He called back over his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"You're driving the truck home."

**Reviews? Do you like me? Check 'yes' or 'no.'**


	5. KumbayBLAH

**I would like to dedicate this chapter to my good friend, the hyphen.**

Bella reached Base Camp just as the sun was starting to kiss the mountainside, turning the air rosy and golden around her. Dr. Reyerson had apparently arrived sometime before her: she could see his gear set out on the rough-hewn log table and there was a fire started. He had shot a brace of quail and was methodically cleaning them next to the creek that ran on the outskirts of the campsite. Bella knew he was aware of her arrival, but he made no more fanfare of her emergence from the shadowing trees than a mild grunt and a gesture at the pile of entrails, indicating they were for Jake.

Groaning softly in relief - it was a long hike after all - Bella set her gear down next to his, and released Jake from his harness.

"Go eat, Jake." She didn't have to tell him twice. Jake leapt over to Dr. Reyerson's side as blithely as if he had just crawled out of Bella's sleeping bag, instead of having just completed a twenty mile hike through the uncertain terrain of the Montana mountainside. He greeted the doctor in his usual fashion, sticking his cold wet nose in the corner of his jaw.

A muffled, "_Asshole_," hissed up from the creek side, and Bella suppressed a chuckle as she watched her superior gently cuff her dog's head away before grabbing his ruff and thumping him in the chest. Jake panted happily in Dr. Reyerson's face for a moment, and then turned to his share of the spoils.

After herself, Dr. Reyerson was the only human that Jake allowed into his affections. He was not aggressive, or fearful, regarding strangers, but instead chose to remain aloof, and somewhat taciturn. It was probably for the best, she mused; Jake's sheer size made him a liability, and she could only imagine the damage he could inflict in even the friendliest of over exuberant gestures. Having been on the receiving end of many of Jake's advances, Bella couldn't help but guess how a stranger might react to a half-crazed looking wolf-beast jamming his long, pointy, and yet somehow massive snout into either their face or crotch. No doubt, running and screaming, with an ecstatic Jake in pursuit, would be the end result.

Dr. Reyerson, on the other hand, accepted Jake with a sort of enthusiastic curiosity, watching for any emerging wolfish tendencies with a maniacal gleam in his pale gray eyes, tolerating the more domestic aspects of his personality with paternal air – as if Jake couldn't help being part dog (which of course he couldn't), and that these less desirable traits should be embraced as well.

_Leave it to Jake_, thought Bella wryly,_ to be the bastard dog version of the Prodigal Son._

"You got any new frequencies for me?" she called to the hunched figure over by the streambed.

"In my notebook."

Bella knew better than to interfere with Dr. Reyerson's cooking, so she busied herself instead with entering in the field data into the industrial strength laptop she carried in her pack. It was a relief, really, to have the more domestic chores taken away from her. The first – and last – time she had tried to help with the cooking Bella had had her knuckles smartly rapped with the wooden spoon that had up until that point been stirring a pot of soup as it simmered over the coals.

"I'll have no women messing in my kitchen, thank you," was the acerbic response to her sucking the soup aggrievedly off her offended appendage. "Besides," and here came the eye crinkle again, "I can't have the sight of you cooking messing with that tough-guy image you've got going on."

And so Bella acquiesced, and was surprised to find how happy it made her – not to be taken care of, but to finally be considered an equal, and worth the consideration. It was so different from what she was used to. Before, in her experiences living with either Charlie or Renee, she assumed the role of helper because it seemed to secure her place in her relationship with them. The idea that her parents depended upon her, for food or advice, made Bella feel that she was necessary, that she needed to be kept, and that she wasn't just the inconvenient byproduct of something they both regretted.

With Dr. Reyerson it was different. After the initial stilted awkwardness of their unfamiliarity had worn off – which it invariably did after spending weeks together in the isolation of the backcountry – there developed between them a sort of mutual regard, and an unspoken respect for the parts of their lives best left to themselves. While Bella knew she could never consider him an academic equal – he was far superior in both degrees and experience - as a man, as a _human_, she found in him an unlikely counterpart, and co-conspirator, to her carefully crafted brittle exterior. Friendship – that's what it was; and the lack of expectations beyond companionship was a relief, and a welcome one at that.

It was full dusk when she was done entering in the new radio collar frequencies into the network. Sometime during the procedure, a plate bearing a steaming concoction of quail meat and long grain rice materialized next to her on the makeshift table. Jake also appeared at her side, even though he had already had dinner – twice. After repeated elbowings on her part, and the application of cold wet nose on his, Bella gave up and chucked the last portion of her uneaten quail out into the gathering darkness.

She could hear Dr. Reyerson's chuckle as he watched the drama of irritated owner versus supposedly starving dog play out in front of him from the comfort of his sleeping bag.

"He's sure got your number, doesn't he?"

Bella grunted, her fingers flying over the keyboard. She could hear the rustle of nylon as her human counterpart rolled and stretched.

"That dog is the only one I have ever seen get you buffaloed, Swan."

She cocked an eye at him, unsure as yet if she should be irritated or pleased. Dr. Reyerson, she found, would often pick at her this way, either to give her an indirect compliment, or just to see how far he could push it without getting a rise out of her.

"I've seen you walk into a room, cool as can be, full of the biggest bunch of pricks and assholes in this damn science fair freak show that we all play in, and leave them wearing their guts for garters without turning a hair." He paused, looking at her appraisingly. "But your hairy monstrosity over there can get you hotter than that campfire in no time."

Bella turned to the aforementioned beast now panting over her shoulder – a remarkable demonstration of his size considering that she was sitting on a tree stump.

_He knows my heart, _she thought to herself_, and he's the only one who won't remind me of what I can't feel._ And it was true. While she had now known Dr. Reyerson long enough as both her friend as well as her mentor, Bella knew she could never burden him with the darkest parts of herself. To see that knowledge, the pity and regret, shining out of those gray eyes, the way it finally did out of Jacob's would be unbearable; it would poison the clear mountain air, the new life she had made out of her old sorrow.

"I think you'll be one hell of a crusader, Swan." That was what she called Dr. Reyerson, knowing that he hated being grouped with the bulk of the environmentalist movement, calling them "a bunch of tofu eating, patchouli smelling motherfuckers." Crusader seemed to sum up all the rougher edges, the saltiness of his outward persona, as well as his reputation as a no bullshit scientific activist.

"Um . . . thanks," was all Bella could manage, uncertain of where he was going with this conversation, but sensing there was some ulterior motive for this unsolicited compliment.

"I want you to give the talk at Anchorage." _There's the catch._

"Oh." _Oh shit._

"Don't get all mushy trying to thank me, Swan." He was definitely enjoying this. "This is your work as well as mine, and you damn well deserve some recognition."

"Uh, huh." There was something else - it hung so heavily in the air between them she could almost smell it. "Who's gonna be there? Bill Clinton? I am _so_ not fucking him so you can meet Al Gore."

Dr. Reyerson let out a loud guffaw at that. Bella gave him her best death glare – a hard thing to do with Jake's nose in her ear.

"Relax, Swan, there won't be any cigars at this party. We've just got some new investors sniffing around, and I think they'd be more inclined to contribute if they can see there's some young blood in the program."

That was true. While Dr. Reyereson was by no means on Death's Door, he was no longer a young man, and as such, his age often became a risk factor in the decisions of his potential investors. With Bella in tow, he could insinuate the continuation of his program through her relative youth, should he suddenly drop dead, or become food for the group of carnivores he was studying.

_Or get choked to death by his intern when he ropes her into something unpleasant_, thought Bella grimly, feeling her fingers twitch. _Ugh._

"Fine. But if they ask, I'm married to the sea."

x x x x x

Maybe it was the conversation, maybe it was exhaustion, but later that night, laying in her sleeping bag next to the fire listening to Dr. Reyerson's slow steady breaths, with Jake's warm body pressed up behind her, Bella felt herself begin to slip, falling into the waking dream that she fought so hard to keep away.

_Oh no, no, no, no . . ._

Staring at the fire, watching the flames curl and coalesce, she could see a wisp of bronze hair, the plane of a pale forehead, and a pair of golden eyes emerge out of the embers like a phoenix, calling to her dead heart. She was transfixed – the beauty, the pain, the longing . . . _Oh God . . . the longing. _Her body was on fire with it, stretched out over the coals, the aching grief of the past five years welling up within her, as if that moment in the forest were only yesterday, this morning, _now_.

"_Bella,"_ his eyes were liquid and soft, and so very sad. _ "Oh, Bella."_

It was all he said, it was all he ever said, his voice the musical embodiment of sorrow.

"_Edward."_ She wasn't even sure if she spoke aloud, but suddenly she was reaching out to the face she saw in the fire, her heart in her throat. _"Why?" Why did you do it? Why did you go? Why wouldn't you let me be enough for you?_ The questions choked her, crowding her mouth and swimming in her eyes. It was agony, to feel it all come pounding back to life, the love for him that she knew would never die, never go, never leave her in peace.

The Edward of her vision opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could utter the words that would set her free, the wind shifted, the fire sputtered and he was gone, leaving Bella reaching an empty hand to a simple, smoldering campfire.

The pain was exquisite, knifing through her broken, bleeding heart, shattering the fortress she had so carefully built around the part of her that could still feel. For a moment she could only lay, gasping like a landed fish, while the waves of her sorrow rolled over her, until she was finally overcome, until she could finally turn her desperately yearning body away from the tainted flames of her memory to the warm canine body of her lonely heart's companion; and she buried her face in his ruff and sobbed.

x x x x x

Across the fire, Dr. Reyerson woke to the gasping, weeping breaths of his young female protégé, and he knew he could do nothing for her – nor would she ever let him. There was too much pride in her, too much invested in her self-reliance, for her to ever let her guard down, to take that sort of help if it were offered. She would only run away again – as he could tell she had before.

He knew it when he first considered her application, and he had been of half a mind to simply drop her packet in the trash. Stellar grades at the university aside, her record as a high school drop out, just days before graduation, and the lack of obvious family listed in her personal contacts raised a giant red flag for him. She wouldn't have been the first one to apply to his program to hide from their personal baggage, and while Dr. Reyerson was not completely unsympathetic to people who fell on hard times, he did take direct offense to those who tried to use his research time as a shield – not to mention his desire to avoid added liability of being alone in the wilderness with an emotional basket case wielding a firearm.

But, from the outset, Bella had proved herself to be different. He could see it in the way she squared her shoulders when she met him, her dirty knuckles, her blackened fingernails; the absolute stillness of her face, and the tired, shadowed lines around her deep brown eyes. The car, and the giant wolf-beast masquerading as a dog were just another set of props in the carefully fashioned façade that clearly said to him, "Stay Away." And she wasn't afraid of him the way most of his applicants were, male and female alike. She took his caustic, ruthlessly blunt nature in stride, welcomed it even, and quickly learned to reply in kind instead of adopting the usual subordinate sycophantic response.

Nor did Bella's rather obvious femininity, gritty and grimy though she was, prove to become an issue – another potential horror in Dr. Reyerson's eyes. As an unmarried, unattached superior, the danger of accusations of impropriety in the Montana wilderness was always a threat, and while he did not like to discriminate, this often became a deciding factor in Dr. Reyerson's consideration of his female applicants.

That was not the case with Bella. As a man, especially one who based the bulk of his research career on observation, Dr. Reyerson was acutely aware of the physical, gendered signals that emanated from every individual he encountered. It was like a vibration, a buzzer or tone that he could feel radiating off a person's body that seemed to identify them very distinctly as either "man" or "woman." Bella seemed to be an exception. From her, he sensed nothing. It was as if she was neuter, or asexual – as if the rather pleasantly attractive young woman she actually was didn't exist – that she was somehow switched off, and closed away from the frightening and complex world of human sexuality. And it wasn't just to him. Any man they came across, young or old, attractive or not, it was the same: nothing, silence, as if she were barely even there.

Now, lying across from her, the embers of the campfire between them, listening to the wracking sobs he dared not comfort, Dr. Reyerson began to guess the secret that lay hidden deep within the enigma that was Bella Swan.

_Someone hurt her,_ he realized, watching her arms tighten around Jake's neck as she wept. _Someone is still hurting her, and there's nothing I or any one else can do about it._

**I need validation friends, the silence is killing me.**


	6. Down on the Killing Floor

"_Edward, NO!"_ The bleeding pain in her voice cut through him, sharp as glass, soft as a feather.

He was in Hell. He was sure of it. He had never suspected that waking dreams could come to the damned, but if these phenomena were another means of proving the cursedness of his existence, he would accept it with whatever grace he could muster.

For the thousandth time that day, that minute, that second, he tried to assure himself that leaving had been the best thing, the only thing he could do to keep her safe. To ensure her survival outside of the nightmare world his kind existed in.

_Bella. Oh, Bella._ She was his crime. This eternity without her would be his penance. No matter how far or how fast he ran, he would never escape the agony in her voice, the sight of her eyes as he lied to her, told her that he did not love her, and broke her, _left her._

Even now, it brought him to his knees, his body collapsing under the weight of his deception. There was no forgiveness for the magnitude of his sin. It would haunt him the rest of his unsleeping life, staining the very essence of his consciousness. That was the price of his arrogance, his greed; the blasphemous assumption that he could lay hands on a mere human girl, that he could take her heart in some sort of perverted facsimile of love.

To love her was wrong – he knew it – but the temptation was too strong; and, accursed creature that he was, he was weak; and he loved her still.

He wished he could die.

It was a beautiful day deep in the rugged terrain of British Columbia, but Edward Cullen may as well have been blind. The only thing he could see was the memory of a pair of deep brown eyes, clouded with tears and confusion, and a heart shaped face, crumpling in defeat.

Five years had passed since he had last seen Bella in the woods, empty years that spread out in an eternity in the agony of helpless, hopeless longing, the strength of which he could never change. Longing for love, longing for wholeness, longing for _her_ – it was as if he had become those things_. _But he could do nothing. She was mortal, and, as such, she was lost to him.

He had tried to find her once. His resolve to stay way had crumbled only a few miles away from where he had left her – just out of the range of her screaming sobs – when he fell to the earth himself, gasping, and numb with pain. He could not do it. In the relatively brief time they spent together she had changed him, become a part of him, his heart, so elementally it was if her blood truly _did_ course through his empty veins. It was impossible to imagine his life, no matter how dangerous, no matter what the risk, without her.

But he was afraid. He was afraid she would reject him, that she would see him for the fearfully, frightfully arrogant creature that he was; see right through his flimsy shroud of self assuredness and complacency, and send him packing. It was no less than he deserved, but the awful prospect of living an eternity knowing that Bella, the only bright point in his poisoned existence, hated him, wanted nothing to do with him, paralyzed him with dread.

In the end, it was Alice who drove him to go back. Alice, little all seeing Alice, whom he had finally deceived while she was in Alaska trying to comfort Jasper as he struggled with his shame and weakness, his part in the whole mess, had called him in a panic one day, weeping, and speaking so fast he could barely understand her.

"_Edward, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to look -"_

"Damn it, Alice, I told you –" the rage and the shame choked him: he had forbidden it, he could not bear to be reminded of the height of his folly.

"FUCK what you told me Edward!" she shouted in between gasping breaths. "_Bella's GONE! _I saw her leave her house and now she's _gone_."

"So she left," he scoffed, feigning disinterest, "So what?"

"You don't get it, you idiot! She DISAPPEARD! I can't see her no matter how hard I look." Alice burst into a fresh round of tears.

Edward felt his silent heart plummet.

"What do you mean, Alice?" he hissed through clenched teeth; the plastic of his phone groaning in protest as he clutched it with nervous fingers; he wanted nothing more than to shout in frustration. _What happened to her?_

"I don't know Edward," Alice moaned, her voice suddenly so very small. "There was nothing. No accident. No threat. She was there, and then suddenly she wasn't – it's like she just blinked out."

It made no sense. There was no danger anymore – Edward knew that he had seen to that. By removing himself from the fragile equation of Bella's human existence, he believed had eliminated the threat he saw that those of his kind posed to her. He had thought that she would be safe, that the only dangers she would face were limited to those of a mortal life. He had not anticipated this uncertainty, the invisible unknown that had apparently engulfed the life of the young woman he had given his heart.

Edward began to realize then, listening to Alice's choking sobs, the entirety of his mistake. He had been a fool to think that by removing himself from her life he could in anyway change the shape of her destiny.

But by that time, she was gone, and no one in Forks, not even her father, knew where she went.

And so Edward found himself once again creeping into Bella's bedroom window like a thief in the night, trying to find some clue, some small indication that Alice could not see, that would help him find her –find what happened to her. It was ironic, he realized, in an incredibly sick way, that instead of begging Bella for her forgiveness, he was now begging fate, destiny and the God he no longer believed in for her survival; for some scrap of evidence that she still lived.

Her room was just the same, and yet strangely dead. All of the pictures, all of the mementos of the girl she had been were still on the wall. The bed was still covered in its plain, homely spread. In the corner, the dinosaur computer still lurked, wheezing out a faint miasma of old electronics. The only things missing were her clothes, her grandmother's quilt, and of course, Bella herself.

Of her, there was no sign, only the faint floral tang of her scent, diluted now, faded with time, and something else: the salt of her tears. Defeated, Edward sank to the floor, pressing his head on the cool fabric of her bed. The memories rolled over him: of him watching her sleep, of him holding her, of him pressing her soft body beneath his on the bed, kissing her throat as she arched and clung to him. Those memories were bitter aloe to his aching wounds now - there could be no reconciliation, no resolution, not without her.

His only other option now was to ask her father, to pry into his waking mind and find the reason for the rupture between them, to explain the sudden departure of the quiet and thoughtful person that Edward knew to be Bella Swan.

Charlie had not told him directly. Instead, he had simply opted to throw Edward down the porch stairs, cursing him for the loss of his daughter. And Edward had been so shocked by the barrage of images flooding at him out of Charlie's mind – of Bella crying, Bella catatonic, Bella listless, thin and pale, and not the vibrant, beautiful _living_ girl who had captured his heart – that he had let him. Lying in a heap on the sidewalk outside the home that he had spent some of the happiest days of his long life in, with Charlie breathing over him like a raging bull, the jumble of his accusatory thoughts bowling over him with all of the subtlety of a battering ram, Edward finally began to realize the enormity his mistake.

Bella's shouted words, _"FUCK YOU, DAD!"_ echoed unspoken in the air around them, their venom lacing Charlie's angry thought tirade with frightening clarity, chilling Edward's already frozen body.

"She's gone you son of a bitch!" Charlie roared at him. "Don't you think this wasn't your fault!"

Edward scrambled to his feet, the weight of Charlie's accusations, both in word and thought, causing him to sway drunkenly, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly like a fish.

He could hear the final conversation between father and daughter clear as day, and saw in Charlie's mind that he truly did not know where his daughter had gone. All the older man knew was that he awoke one morning to an empty house, and to cryptic note that did nothing to assuage his deepest fears. _Lost_, their minds seemed to say in unison. Bella was lost to them. After all the hurt and shame that had been heaped upon her, she had broken; and in disappearing, had retreated into an unknown seclusion. Looking up at Charlie, his face red, a vein pulsing angrily in his forehead, Edward was filled with a new sense of remorse.

_I caused this, too._

"You are right, sir," he rasped, his voice sounding strangely _dead_ to his own ears, "It was my fault, and I am sorry for it."

_You can never believe how sorry I am._

"I don't want your 'sorry'," Charlie spat. "I want you to get the fuck off my property and stay the hell out of my town!"

Edward was only too ready to comply. With Bella gone, Forks was now the epicenter of his pain. There was nothing else to stem the ruthless tide of his sorrow, his regret. He had hoped he could find her, and if she wouldn't forgive him, he only wanted to be near her, unseen, revolving around her like a satellite, reassuring himself that as long as her heart beat, he could love her from afar, and be satisfied. Now that she had vanished, he was adrift, lost himself in the vast sea of his newly purposeless life.

And so now he lay, face down on the damp forest floor in the mountains just outside of Blackcomb, letting the grief and regret of the past five years wash over him, knowing that the pain he felt was no less than he deserved.

_Edward, eat._ Carlisle's voice, calm and patient, gently cut through his earthy reverie. _We'll be leaving soon._

Edward groaned.

In an effort to drag him out of his endless cycle of misery and self-accusation, Carlisle had enlisted Edward's help in exploring new options for their rather sizable financial investments. Some of this included branching out into philanthropy, since, as Carlisle earnestly stated, that beyond being tax-deductible, "it was the right thing to do."

Edward had no desire to debate the semantics with him – or do anything else for that matter, but the vast well of patience and understanding that Carlisle had shown him throughout this entire ordeal, was extraordinary, even for him, and so Edward acquiesced, because his sense of honor demanded it, no matter how much his wounded psyche protested.

He could not have Carlisle be beholden to something that could only ever be considered his fault.

His body protesting, well, his mind really, Edward heaved himself up off the forest floor and flung himself down the hillside toward the nearest heartbeat his inhuman ears could hear.

It would be a long flight to Anchorage.

**I'm just a cricket, riding on a tumbleweed. Why is it so quiet in here?**


	7. Waiting for the Night to Fall

**Commas are nice, semi-colons are better. Procrastination tastes like chicken.**

It had been a long two days.

After waking up in the pre-dawn half light, her face swollen, her eyes dry and bleary, Bella thought, _Oh, right, _and painfully tried to smooth the resurging memories of the night before back down into the dark recesses of her mind; and she slowly, grimly, forced herself to take stock of her physical surroundings.

Jake had lain next to her, looking stoic - as he well should have considering the death grip her stiff fingers still held on his ruff. Dr. Reyerson lay, fast asleep, on the other side of the campfire, breathing deeply, his simple presence exuding the comforting air of a reliable old boot. And so the darkness that still plagued her heart faded into the softness of the morning.

They had broken camp not long after in companionable silence. If the doctor had seen anything of her outburst by the fire, he said nothing, and his eyes had revealed nothing more to her than the pale sky above them.

The return hike down to the trailhead from Base Camp had been uneventful, and after a flurry of last minute packing, data entry, and acquiring lodgings for Jake, Bella and Dr. Reyerson crammed themselves and their presentation materials into a small prop-jet to make the short, bumpy flight out of the backcountry of Montana to their commercial connecting flight to Alaska departing from the airport in Spokane.

Finding a place to keep Jake while they were out of state had been somewhat of a problem. None of the newer interns wanted anything to do with him: he was too large, too intimidating, and too damn smart. Nor could Bella trust him to be left alone. His wolf genes and his extraordinary size enabled him to be a consummate escape artist, and he took any prolonged absence from his human counterpart as a personal offence that demanded retaliation in diabolically epic proportions.

Bella had learned this the hard way, returning to her tiny apartment after an unplanned overnight stay in the lab to a scene of unparalleled destruction. Jake, she found, had expressed his deep displeasure at her supposed defection from his canine altar by brutally mauling every single left shoe from all of the pairs that she owned. He had also eaten the crotch out of every last pair of underpants in her top dresser drawer. Sufficiently disturbed, and not a little bit amused, Bella had chosen what proved to be the lesser of two evils and bring Jake with her wherever she went from that point on. Although she did leave him fastened securely to a bench outside when she went to buy new underwear – that, she supposed, would have been like waving a red flag in front of a bull, and her imagination was only too happy to supply her with images of Jake running rampant through the store, shreds of satin and lace flying everywhere in Montana's first lingerie massacre.

Eventually, she had been able to make arrangements with the wildlife sanctuary they teamed with through part of the Wolf Study. The rescue establishment proved to be a good match for Bella and her super-intelligent wolf-beast as they had sufficient experience and facilities to deal with animals of all shapes and sizes that had no desire to stay put. Thus, while Bella found herself preparing for the talk Dr. Reyerson had roped her into at a swanky tourist lodge in the hillside just outside of Anchorage, Jake was safely tucked away in one of the sanctuary's rehabilitation runs, eating whole raw chickens, and discovering that the chain link fence of his enclosure had, in fact, been cemented into the ground.

Now, looking at herself in the bathroom mirror of her suite, Bella wished for nothing more than to be back in Montana with her dog instead of painting and primping herself for a night of speeches, wet handshakes, and painfully obvious drunken leering stares into her cleavage. Bella smiled sardonically to herself as she applied the last of her mascara, and adjusted the fit of her dress. If she was going to figuratively whore herself out for the study, she decided that she may as well look the part.

The dress she wore was a deep gold silk that glowed warmly against her pale skin. It had thin shoulder straps that held up a loose gathering of fabric as it draped over her breasts, and then lower down her back before gathering tightly around her waist and hips, and then fell in a shimmering waterfall to rest over her painted toenails. It wasn't actually a trashy dress – Bella wouldn't go that far, and as much as Dr. Reyerson joked about her role as bait, he would not have hesitated to throw a blanket over her and drag her out kicking and screaming if she had sashayed into the gala as Bella of the Bordello looking ready to give out hand jobs and fellatio for endowments and trust funds – but she knew without a doubt, looking at herself in the mirror, that she looked every bit the beautiful young woman she had grown up to be; and she would be turning heads regardless.

_What a waste._

Five years ago it would have taken an act of God, or some other member of the supernatural, to get her to even be in the same room with such an outfit. She would have protested a ridiculous amount, citing plainness, clumsiness, and an overall sense of feminine unworthiness, getting herself much more attention than her flimsy protests would have suggested that she wanted. In short, she would have made a scene. Now, however, Bella had the courage to recognize beauty where she saw it, and right now it was staring at her out of her bathroom mirror.

She sighed. She had not the time, or the luxury tonight, to indulge herself in a litany of "if onlys."

Instead, she pulled her talisman, her one deliberate reminder of the life she once had, and gently fastened it around her neck, where it fell, just below the hollow of her throat. It was a little chunk of polished amber framed in gold, hanging on a matching slender chain. Bella had found it in one of the many roadside tourist shops outside of the Park in Wyoming. She had not been looking for it – she had no use for jewelry – but the color naturally caught her eye (it was a sick reflex from that bygone time she couldn't help) drawing her notice where she otherwise would have continued on to the first aid kit and the bottled water that she actually needed.

But the bit of amber called to her from its modest gold setting, pulling her in when she least expected to be. Looking closely, she saw that the piece of crystal was not entirely clear, that trapped within the smooth chunk of resin was a tiny winged insect, frozen in perfect flight, its life stopped, suspended for all time in a golden prison.

_Just like me._

Because for all she had grown, for all the time that had gone by, Bella remained caught in the half-life between the real and the supernatural, with her broken heart planted firmly in the world she no longer had any access to. Edward had made sure of that. No matter how many times she heard the words in her head, woke with them burning on her lips, Bella knew she was living his lie to the fullest extent.

_It will be like we never existed._

He was wrong. His words, his departure, framed in the dead light of his empty golden eyes, had devastated her, broken her, denied the deepest aspect of her feminine self, and left her neither a girl nor yet a woman, unable to feel for anyone, _want_ for anyone the way she did for him. The way he never felt for her.

So now she stood in front of the bathroom mirror in a tiny suite in a fancy lodge, staring at a reflection of herself that clearly said "female," while her own body remained in a state of frozen chastity, his resounding "no" to her final question whispering to her "nothing," and "never again;" and the bit of amber hung at her throat, it's tiny winged prisoner caught suspended, like the virginity she would never desire to offer to any man that wasn't Edward Cullen.

Bella sighed, smoothed back her hair, and adjusted the straps on her heels, before squaring her shoulders and stepping out the door and into another tedious night of what Dr. Reyerson called "the seedy underbelly of the environmentalist movement."

Her stiletto heels no longer posed the danger they once would have. It seemed that with the casting off of her old life, Bella had finally managed to grab hold of her inner equilibrium; that perhaps in all her clumsiness had simply been an unconscious attempt to fall out of the life that had been laid out, unasked, before her; and that in gaining control of her destiny, in learning to be confident in herself, she gained control of her body as well. So now she walked, quickly, composedly toward a night evening that held no terrors for her, the staccato tapping of her heels the only sound of her passage.

She was greeted at the bottom of the giant river-stone staircase in the lobby by Dr. Reyerson him self, who took in her appearance with a neutral glance and a nod before flashing her a friendly smile.

"Glad to see you were able to get all that grease out from under your fingernails, Swan."

She grinned back at him, feeling suddenly at home amidst all the strangeness – herself in a dress, Dr. Reyerson uncharacteristically dapper in a dark grey suit.

"You'll like my perfume then. It's called Eau de Goo Gone."

It was true, after almost a solid hour of scrubbing with the stuff, while Bella's once permanently stained fingers were now a much more feminine ivory, the end result was that she now carried with her the strong smell of citrus soap, along with the fainter odor of her strawberry shampoo.

Dr. Reyerson chuckled as he took her arm, wrapping it under his.

"Just don't let yourself be mistaken for the fruit salad. I'd rather not have to punch anyone tonight."

Bella took the latent compliment implied within the warning in stride.

"Duly noted. I was planning on standing over by the prime rib anyway, so I can be closer to the big knives."

"A wise choice. Let's get this horror show over with, shall we?"

And so they walked into the carefully crafted atmosphere of the lodge's rather spectacular ballroom, arm in arm, smiling conspiratorially together.

The evening was unremarkable, for a fundraising reception. Bella and Dr. Reyerson were not the only research team present, but they did have the good fortune of presenting first, before the food and alcohol kicked in and the following speeches were tuned out. Dr. Reyerson had said only a few words of introduction before turning the reins over to Bella, and she gave the well-rehearsed lecture and slideshow with barely a flicker of anxiety.

Sitting down to dinner, with the presentation behind her, seated between Magnate This and Junior the Third that, Bella could not help but have another moment of longing for the silence of the Montana woods, and the blandness of outdoor cooking. While she had learned to never turn down free food, she knew from experience that the fare offered at these gatherings would be too much for her less worldly stomach to enjoy.

_Another night with nightmares and heartburn, _thought Bella listlessly._ Someone kill me now._

She ate as little as possible, planning on ordering a grilled cheese sandwich from room service as soon as she was able to get back to her room. Picking at her food, responding reflexively to the gentlemen sitting next to her while desperately trying to ignore the fact that both of them were practically nose first in her cleavage, Bella was relieved when the main course was removed and the desserts were passed. The sooner the obligatory dancing and mingling were over with, the sooner she could be back in her room, curled up in the enormous bed, replete with pillows, eating the bread and cheese concoction she had been fantasizing about since she caught sight of the pickled beets and orchid petals artfully garnishing her starter salad.

Fortunately for Bella, the final course was a chocolate mousse torte, which she readily plowed through like a field hand, unlike the rest of her dinner.

By this time, the dancing had started, and rather than risk any physical contact with her leering dinner partners, Bella opted instead to find Dr. Reyerson before either of them had a chance to corner her on the dance floor. A silk dress and stiletto heels were not suitable for combat, after all. She excused herself from her dinner companions, taking her champagne flute with her for deflection purposes, and went to search for her mentor.

Weaving through the throng of dark suited men and their sparkling female companions, Bella finally spotted him as he stood amidst a small group, with his back toward her, huddled in one of the darker and more removed corners. She had almost reached his side when he turned to her, as though he expected her at that very moment, and drew her towards the group.

"Gentlemen, " said Dr. Reyerson in his best schmoozing voice, "I want you to meet my partner in crime, and the pride of our department: Miss Isabella Swan."

Bella had been looking down at her feet, trying desperately not to laugh at what long months of experience told her was the absolute insincerity of his tone, when Dr. Reyerson jogged her elbow.

"_Pay attention, Swan,"_ he hissed, knowing full well why she had averted her gaze, and Bella whipped her head up, and looked directly into a pair of very familiar golden eyes.

_Carlisle._

Her heart leapt and then plummeted, careening through her ribcage, her chocolate mousse, her indifferent attempt at dinner, and landed somewhere in the vicinity of her shoes.

_Shitshitshit_

He was exactly the same – how could he not be? The same golden hair, the same pale skin glowing in the warm light of the dance hall, the same impossibly handsome face, bland, professional, calm.

Looking at him in that brief agonizing pause before the formal introductions started, his face carefully blank as he gazed back at her, Bella was suddenly furious.

_How DARE he? _She knew it was irrational, that she could not control where the fragments of her old life would fall as they swirled away from her, but she could not help the anger that roared through her veins at the man who was, either deliberately or otherwise, partially responsible for the mess that her life had become after Edward left her in the woods in Forks.

_He left me, too._

Bella squared her shoulders, her anger giving her the courage to stare coldly back at the being she knew could tear her head off with a flick of his finger, and when Dr. Reyerson introduced him in the name that had become part of the silent mantra of her past memories, she replied formally in kind, her voice firm, and politely removed.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Cullen."

Her eyes held his as she willed all her flimsy powers of human persuasion into them.

_You don't know me. You don't want to know me. You LEFT me._

Something flickered in his eyes, she wasn't sure what, and she couldn't make herself care. There was a fire burning, red and twisting, in the pit of her belly, making her heart pound and her palms sweat, and it roared in her ears, and his voice sound tinny and thin, and almost _sad?_ as he murmured politely back, "Miss Swan," as though they had never met, as though he had never touched her, never held her still while his "son" sucked the blood out of her poisoned wound, never stitched her arm back together while her life went quietly to pieces around her. He did not offer her his hand.

Bella gritted her teeth as he spoke, the soft musical tone knifing through her rage, a gorgeous piercing pain cutting to her soul. The champagne glass snapped in her fist.

She almost didn't feel it, the shards of the fragile stem digging into her palm, almost didn't recognize the dull ache of the severing of her tender flesh. All she saw were Carlisle's eyes as they widened infinitesimally at the salty tang of blood tinged the air between them, and she felt the warm, sticky liquid as it slipped between her fingers.

It was too much. Even without the sharp sting of the glass lodged in her skin, even without the smell that made her want to retch, the pain, the anger that swam in her blood, deafened her, blinded her; and the room was too small, too warm; and the memories of her past howled, waking and alive, before her very eyes. She had to run; she had to escape before they swallowed her whole, before she lost herself again in the abyss of grief. There would be no coming back this time.

"Gentlemen, excuse me." Her voice was surprisingly calm, her feet steady, as she turned from the group and walked swiftly out of the hall, blood dripping around the pieces of broken glass she still held in her nerveless fingers.

She didn't see the two pairs of eyes that followed her, one gold, one gray, identical in their concern.

Instead Bella strode down the wide hallway, leaving the sight and the sound and the smell of the night behind her, her heeled shoes clicking on the hardwood floors as if they were another extension of her body, and not the instruments of disaster that they once would have proved to be.

If she didn't get out of this damned building she was going to explode.

Mercifully she found herself walking toward a pair of doors, their glass become mirrors against the darkness of the night. She could see herself stalking angrily, gracefully forward into their reflection, her eyes dark, two bright spots of color high on her cheeks, and then she was through the doors, outside in the velvety midnight of the Alaskan air.

The night was still and beautiful. She had walked out onto a wide balcony jutting out over the hillside, leading down into the pale harbor of Anchorage as it glistened under the stars and the faint fingering brilliance of an early aurora borealis. It was every brochure, every bit of tourist propaganda, every bit the romantic evening in every fairy tale that wasn't hers.

Bella saw none of it. Moving swiftly toward the edge, she threw the broken glass away from her, hearing a satisfying crash as it shivered apart against the decking, and then she was gripping the rough hewn wood of the railing like it was the only anchor in the maelstrom of hurt and rage and fear that pounded through her veins, behind her eyes, within her breast. And Bella screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

All the rage, all the pain, the _betrayal_, surged, newly awakened into her aching throat and poured out of her in a poisoned, agonized wail.

She screamed until she had nothing left, until her voice was ripped out of her as well, and she clung, weak and trembling, sobbing quietly against the cedar rail that separated her from the night, and the darkness below.

It was only then, in the watchful stillness, with the throbbing echo of her cries fading into the hillside, that she realized she wasn't alone - that there was someone standing, hidden in the shadows behind her.

"Bella?"

_Oh. FUCK._

**How do you like them apples?**


	8. Under the Milky Way Tonight

**AN: I write because I have so much other stuff to do.**

"_Bella."_

There it was, the voice she had heard whispering in the night, haunting her waking dreams. She whirled, spattering blood, her eyes snapping to the preternaturally still form shrouded in the darkness.

"_Edward."_ His name breathed from her swollen throat like a prayer. _Oh, GOD._ Her heart exploded in a frenzied rhythm, her veins were on fire, and every cell in her body, every last strand of DNA awoke and screamed at her: _This! THIS MAN!_ It brought her to her knees, it held her upright, paralyzed with the fear, the pain and grief of the past five years.

She leaned back, gripping the railing behind her to still her shaking hands, to keep her from running across the seemingly interminable distance between them and throw herself into the arms of the love who had left her so long ago.

He was quiet, still and watchful in the shadows, and as the night spread between them, as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she could see the glow of the starlight, the rainbow lights of the night sky reflecting of his pale, perfect skin. He was ethereal, he was unreal; he was still the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

Her heart broke and bled again, looking at him, knowing that for all he stood before her again, she would never again be _his._ And so the pain gave her the courage to speak, knowing that her words could never hold him, could not resurrect the past that now hung between them like a ghost, haunting in the empty air.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice was thick and low, choking and burning on her lips. She could feel herself shivering apart, something splintering deep within her – a venomous thorn in a poisoned wound. "Why are you doing this to me?"

He was so quiet, so still, staring unmoving, unmoved, back at her, the only indication that he wasn't just a beautifully dressed statue the faint, almost imperceptible twitching of his fingers. Edward shook his head, as if to clear it.

Bella snapped. The writhing pain in her breast would not be ignored, would not accept his silence.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Edward? Did Alice get bored and tell you where to find me?" Her voice was like a wound in the air, dripping and bleeding like the tattered flesh of her hand. "After five years . . . _why?_" she stopped, her eyes swimming, her throat closed. _She would not cry in front of him._

Almost too soft for her to hear, he finally spoke, his voice a deadly whisper against her flesh.

"Alice can't see you anymore. She hasn't been able to for years." He shook his head again, looking at her curiously. "I asked her not to look, to leave you alone," it was like he was telling a story to himself, in a soft, sing-song cadence, "but one day she called me, to tell me you were gone from her mind. She saw you leaving Forks, and she's never seen you since."

Edward paused, his eyes dark, his face unreadable, just like Carlisle's, just like that day in the woods.

"It was like you had never been."

His words trailed, whispering against her skin, hissing in her ears, caressing against the desperate throbbing beat of her heart, an obscene perversion of the ones he had said to her before in the woods, _"It will be like we never existed."_

Bella's hands tightened against the railing, unconscious of the pain, the unpleasant warm slide of blood as it wept salt crimson against the rough wood. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, she wanted to run, she wanted this night, this moment to never end. But she couldn't do any of those things. Instead she was paralyzed by the fear and the pain, and the agonizing overwhelming sense of _betrayal_, not only from him, but from her own heart – the heart she had so desperately tried to inure against the false promise of a love that could never be hers.

The silence stretched out between them, as they stared at each other, unmoving, the only sign of life their ragged breathing, and the horrible, awful sound of Bella's blood as it dripped, unchecked from the deep slice in her palm, to the thirsty wood of the balcony floor.

"You lied to me," she finally whispered, wanting desperately to do something, to end the moment before her overworked heart ruptured and her grief overtook her.

Edward flickered, came to life.

"Yes," he said – _almost smiling?_ "I did. I had to, Bella. How else would you have let me go?" He stepped towards her, eagerly, earnestly, reaching out as if to congratulate her for her astuteness, and, for the briefest moment in her life, Bella hated him.

And so she slapped him with her open bloody hand, with all the hurt and pain of the past five years guiding it whistling through the air as she gave him the most gentle caress her broken heart could muster; not caring that he was a vampire, that her blood painted his cheek, and splattered them both with the thing that had drawn them together, and that now kept them apart: her humanity, her very life.

If he heard her finger snap against his cheekbone, he gave no sign, only looking at her, eyes black, breathing heavily, painfully, a beautiful look of lost confusion clouding his face as a faint stream of red trickled slowly down his neck. It was all Bella needed to launch into the last defense of her heart, the innocent girl self he had left behind.

"You lied to me. You poisoned my life. You DESTROYED me." The tears that had threatened to choke her welled up and spilled like glass, sharp and hot, down her cheeks, falling like tiny diamonds in the starlight. He had tasted those tears once – now he looked at them with an expression of growing horror.

"What were you thinking?" she whispered. "I gave you my heart, and you think a few words will make it like 'you never existed.'" She sneered his empty words back at him, "I _died _that day in the woods, Edward."

"Bella I –" His voice was uncharacteristically rough, "I'm sorry."

"_I don't want your 'sorry,'"_ she hissed. "I want my goddamn life back."

Edward shifted on one foot, hesitating, uncertain. He looked so young, so _human_ in the odd colored light pulsing in the night sky, with his shoulders hunched, and a thousand expressions fighting for dominance on his face. It was the most vulnerable Bella had ever seen him – and she suddenly felt so very old.

"I only did what was best for you," he whispered. "It . . . I wasn't safe for you."

Bella bristled, drawing herself up square before him, her hands balled up into fists, mindless of the pain.

"How DARE you!_" _She cried, tears bleeding down her cheeks. "How dare you presume to know what's best for me!" She stepped forward, until she was inches from his face. Even with heels, she still had to look up. "Do I look happy, Edward? Do I look _safe? _Do I look loved?"

His eyes searched hers, inscrutable and dark, the proximity of him, the smell of him, making Bella's traitor body tremble, her clenched hands aching to reach out for him. The silence roared between them. Her anger boiled within her, the pain, the arrogance of his words flooding her; she wanted open her burning veins, and pour out the uncertainty of her life, the emptiness of her heart, over him, over the velvet stillness of the Alaskan night.

"_This_ is what I am," she whispered furiously, gripping the piece of amber that hung about her neck. "This is what I will always be. Frozen. Chaste. Unlovable. _Nothing._" She gave the slender chain a tug with each of those words, as if she were trying to shake herself free of the golden matrix in which Edward had left her life, her heart paralyzed, entombed in his chilling profession of indifference.

Bella's chest heaved as she looked at him, her body screaming for his in the short distance between them. She could feel it in the tightening in the tips of her breasts, the coiling in the pit of her belly, the tingling in the backs of her thighs as he stood before her – so close, and yet forever out of her reach. Nothing, not even the venom that had burned in her blood, could compare to this pain, the agony of unrequited longing that echoed from every bit of her once dormant feminine self, begging for the empty promise of the body standing before her in the form of Edward Cullen.

_I want you,_ her body whispered. _ I have always wanted you. I will always want you. Only you._

She stepped back before she could make a complete fool of herself, giving into her desire, leaping on him and dragging his beautifully perfect body down onto hers, onto the rough decking beneath their feet, as if the chill of his arms could quench the burning underneath her skin, in her soul; tearing his shirt open and pressing her desperately aching breasts against his cool flesh as if her warm, woman's body could force his cold, dead heart.

"I gave myself to you," she murmured, her voice throbbing with emotion. "I gave you everything in my heart. I gave you my soul." Bella looked up at him, trying to ignore his unwitting siren call. "I wanted to give you my body, every last bit, every last bit for forever . . . but it wasn't enough." Her eyes swam, luminous and full of tears – she could barely see him now, he was only a shadow in the night before her, a dream himself. "_I _wasn't enough. You didn't want me. And this," she said, gripping her amber talisman, "this what you did to me.

"You were all I ever wanted. And now I can never want any one else." And with that she ripped the gold chain from her neck with her bloodied hand and threw it at his feet.

"I hope you enjoyed the distraction, Edward Cullen, because I'm done being your toy." Bella spat the last words out, looking at him with all wounded contempt she could muster.

Edward had just opened his mouth to speak when the door behind them opened again, bathing them in the golden light from the hallway.

"Swan?"

It was Dr. Reyerson. His shrewd eyes swept over them as they stood framed in the rectangle of artificial light, taking in their rigid forms, Bella's hand, trailing blood, the jaunty patch of it on Edward's cheek as he turned to look owlishly at the new intrusion - the next assault on his dignity - and finally stopping the tiny gold charm, crumpled and bloodstained at his feet.

_Jesus._

"Swan, I need you back inside." His face was a perfect mask, giving nothing away, looking as blandly professional as if he had just walked into a conference room instead of breaking up the disturbing, blood-spattered reunion between two estranged lovers of questionable circumstances.

Bella turned gratefully toward him, her traitor body both rejoicing at the reprieve and screaming in protest. Edward's head snapped toward Dr. Reyerson in that moment, eyes wide, shocked, and Bella _felt_ rather than heard him growl.

But she did not have time to puzzle out this new reaction, this new bit of Edward's mystery. Her limited grasp on the imminent hysteria that swelled through her body and threatened to sweep her off her feet demanded that she say her final goodbyes to the love of her life, before it came crashing down, and she was lost.

Steeling herself, pulling the last bits of her self reliance around her like a cloak, Bella let her eyes trace over Edward's face one last time, drinking in the darkness of his eyes, the perfect arch of his eyebrows, his nose that had just a tiny bump in it, his cheeks, his jaw, his perpetually ruffled, rumpled hair, and his beautiful lips, trembling with unspoken words.

_Oh, my love. My only love._

Her heart was on fire, every pounding beat surging the acid of grief and woe through her veins. She thought it would kill her. She wanted to die.

"Bella, _don't_," Edward choked. _"Please don't go."_

It was enough. Enough for forever. To know that she had seen him, told him, released herself from him, redeemed what little there was left of the young girl that had once been Bella Swan, daughter of Charlie and Renee of Forks, Washington, seduced, fooled and betrayed by an immortal, one Edward Cullen.

"Good bye, Edward."

And she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, and stepped back into the warm, human light inside the lodge; and Dr. Reyerson let the door swing shut behind them, sparing Edward one last unreadable look as he did so, before leaving him alone in the darkness.

X X X X X

Bella swept by Dr. Reyerson in the hallway, eyes forward, rigid and regal like a queen, her whole body vibrating with tension. Her hands were clutched reflexively into fists at her sides as she strode rapidly down the corridor, leaving him in her crimson spattered wake.

Blood still seeped from the ragged wound in her palm, dropping like tears on the polished pine floor leaving an identical trail to the one that already existed, pointing in the opposite direction, out into the darkness of the night.

It was how he had known where to find her, after all.

"Swan," he called quietly to her retreating back. _"Isabella."_

Bella swayed, then, drunkenly in the hallway, her façade crumbling at his first and formal use of her given name, and she leaned back against the wall, her arms wrapping around her stomach. Dr. Reyerson reached her then, pulling her hands away from her dress before her blood stained it. He pulled off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders – she was trembling, hard enough that her teeth were clattering together, as though she would shake apart, her slight frame screaming with silent agitation.

In that instant he knew, he knew without asking, without having to witness the thing that hung in the air between Bella and the unknown young man standing in the Alaskan night: that that had been her man there in the shadows, that he was the only one her mute body cried out "woman" to, the one she wept for in the night, and that he was the reason why she had built a fortress of flesh and steel around herself. For in that moment, while he slipped the woolen jacket around her, and her eyes stared past his, unfocused and swollen with unshed tears, Bella's body was finally singing, shrieking really, with unrepressed femininity.

_I AM A WOMAN! _ He could feel it tingling in the air between them, but he knew it wasn't for him. No, for whatever reason, Bella's body sang only for the strange, messy haired young man whom Dr. Reyereson had never seen before in his life.

With a perfunctory pat and nary a word, Dr, Reyerson gripped her by a nerveless elbow and guided her into the nearly empty bar at the other end of the hallway. Leaving her partially obscured in the shadows, he strode purposefully to the counter, and slapped down a pile of bills.

"I need a bar towel, two glasses, and a bottle of scotch."

The bartender looked at Dr. Reyerson, and then peered into the shadows at Bella with raised eyebrows.

_"Now_, if you don't mind," snapped the doctor in a tone of disgust. He turned and gesticulated at Bella, waving her closer. She complied, stepping up to the bar, and reaching for the proffered towel with a swollen, bleeding hand.

"Thank you," she said, softly, sweetly, as the man looked at her mutilated flesh with horror. Dr. Reyerson smirked at his discomposure.

_Only Bella,_ he thought, _only Bella could pull that off. _

He was willing to guess that she could probably do the same with her leg off, or maybe even her head, given the state she was in now. He had never seen her this undone. Hell, until a few nights ago, he had never seen her undone at all.

_Good Christ, I hate to think what that boy did to her, to take a soft woman like that and make her into a lifeless lump of iron. _

Being a man, being a bastard himself, he could guess; and Dr. Reyerson was of half a mind to turn back, unknowing, into the shadowed darkness of the balcony, and throw the strange red headed young man who was wearing Bella's blood painted across his cheek straight off the deck into the void below. But he couldn't, not without knowing, not without leaving Bella, who was putting on a brave show of not falling to pieces right next to him as she struggled to wrap the scrap of white terry cloth around her wound one handed.

Instead, Dr. Reyerson tucked Bella's good hand under his arm, and grabbing the glasses and the bottle, led her back out into the hallway, and to the elevator that would take them up to his room.

He turned and looked at her while they waited for the lift, examining her profile as she stood next to him, still shaking, the tears spilling silently down her cheeks.

"I've never asked, and I've always said I didn't want to know, but I think it's time for you to come clean, Swan.

"Just what in all fucking hell was that back there?"

She turned and stared at him, a twisted smile warring with her tearstained features.

"That, my dear doctor, was my baggage."

**Shameless begging begins now. I value this forum very much for its ability to provide feedback. While I personally enjoy writing very much, I also realize that I am posting this story because I feel that I need objective criticism. Please. Tell me what you think, good or bad. I'm a big girl, and I can take it. Thanks!**


	9. In Your Eyes

**Hello my lovelies.  Sorry for delay.  Apparently large projects, graveyard shifts and grad-school do not prompt updates make.  Also, the proper Edward voice is a hard one to get a hold of.  Let me know how I did, yeah?**

The door swung shut, leaving Edward alone in the darkness. He staggered forward and slumped to his knees, resting his forehead on Bella's bloodied railing. He was utterly wretched. Her accusations rang in his ears, coupled with the cacophony of regret in his own mind, deafening him as the image of Bella's retreating back, and the glassy, opaque stare of the man with her burned into his retinas, blinding him to the still night that surrounded him.

Bella's blood perfumed the air around him, clinging to his clothes, clogging, drugging his senses. He could feel its subtle burn as it cooled on his cheek, sliding languidly down his neck, pooling in the hollow of his throat. It set his body on fire, consuming him with desire just as the memories of his past surged through his mind, unbidden, like the apparition of the woman who had blazed before him in the velvet darkness, all liquid promise and lush, sensual delight, forever out of his reach.

He had not known, he could not have known, that she would be there, on this night of all nights.

The oracle that was Alice had remained silent regarding Bella's movements throughout the world since she had so effectively winked out of her vision's existence almost five years ago.

Nor was there any deception in Carlisle's mind when he had asked Edward to accompany him on his latest venture. His request for Edward's presence had been couched only in the simple attempt to distract his son from the obvious misery that consumed him, and not some elaborate and rather embarrassing attempt to throw him and Bella together: Carlisle was too aware of Edward's fragility regarding her, and not so insensitive as to presume that such a scheme would be in either of their best interests. There had been no indication, formal or otherwise, of Bella's involvement with any of the programs presenting at the gathering, and that information was something that would not have easily escaped Carlisle's careful scrutiny.

They had been as blind as Alice - neither had been aware that Bella would be resurrected in front of them tonight, a golden phoenix arising out of the ashes of their past.

Edward had remained outside when the evening started, overwhelmed by the noise of the crowd after months of solitude. Even when he was with his family, they had been so careful of their thoughts around him that their apparent blankness bordered on silence.

Here at the lodge, the crush of thoughts, egos, and duplicity mingled with the underlying current of alcohol fueled lust had steamrolled his senses, stifling him, worse than the warm wet air that pulsed and lingered around the crowd of bodies in the large hall. Bloodlust wasn't even an issue: Edward thought they stank – the air around them reeking of pollution, greed and fear, and unchecked desire. It was oppressive, suffocating, gagging him to the point of vomiting, had that even been possible.

He had not been lying, therefore, when he excused himself before the presentations, pleading a slight indisposition, indicating to Carlisle his intention to return once the dinner had been over and the crowds' thoughts had settled with their satiety. Outside, in the cool dry air of the Alaskan night, he had lingered, feeling the empty longing wash over him, cradled in the indifferent solitude.

It was so much different than the last time he had found himself pondering his future in the chill of the sub-arctic air. Before, his life had been alive with promise. He had finally found love, and what's more, had worked up the courage to run towards it, instead of away from it. The stars had sung to him that night, shining with possibility as he prepared to return to Forks, and to the young _human_ girl who had so captivated his senses.

Now they were dull pinpricks against the flat black sky – gravestones for the empty nights that stretched out in an eternity before him: Bella was gone, and she had made emphatically sure that he knew she wanted nothing to do with him.

She had blazed before him tonight, a gorgeous knife forged from the fires of his guilt and misbegotten pride, wrought of emotion fit to cut him to his very soul. She was nothing like he remembered: gone was the coltishly awkward girl who had bewitched his dead heart, replaced by a goddess, compellingly mysterious in her new strangeness.

Bella had stood before him in the pale evening light, willowy and graceful, her youthful softness replaced with an unyielding ivory veneer, her skin molding tautly over her bones as though she had been polished to a high finish. Her body, glowing in the light cascading out of the doorway behind her, was wrapped in a film of gold that draped revealingly against her high, firm breasts, and clung to her slender hips and thighs.

He could barely tear his eyes away, let alone speak. The scent that had so tortured and tantalized him was nothing to the perfection that stood before him. For in that moment, as they stared at each other, five years suddenly dust between them, it was not her blood that called to him, but her blatant femininity, and he was paralyzed by wave after wave of lust and grief and longing, his entire body begging for the possession of hers to complete him.

Looking at her, the physical embodiment of what he had so desperately yearned for in all his waking dreams, Edward wanted nothing more than to step across the chasm that separated them, to take her in his arms and tear her silken dress from her pliant human body, bearing her down onto the rough boards beneath them, covering her body with his own, whispering his regret in the softness of her breasts, and spending his woe in the warm haven between her thighs.

But he couldn't. By casting her off, lying, telling her he had not wanted her, telling himself that he knew what was best for her, Edward had, in all his foolish, self-assured pride denied himself the only thing he now knew he had ever been destined for.

_Bella._

His heart's desire stood in front of him, but his own words had removed her forever out of his reach. Out of reach because she knew, she saw through it all, and the contempt she felt for him laced her words, and her looks like poison.

He should have known she was lost to him the moment after she burst through the doors leading out onto the balcony. At first, he did not recognize the slim, elegant woman who strode out into the night, splattering blood and tension on the dry wood before screaming her voice out to the stars. And then the soft wind of the swirling warm air of her passage around him, bathing him in the scent that he had tried so hard to forget.

_Bella_.

She was the same, but different in so many ways. The same brown hair, the same heart shaped face. Her scent still set every molecule of his being on edge, but it was fainter now, diminished, as if he were in greater control of himself, or that she had somehow faded with the passing of time. It was almost impossible to believe as he gazed at the beautiful woman she had become, but looking into her eyes, her eyes that had once been deep and tranquil and shining with love for him, he now only saw the stark, flat emptiness of the night reflected back upon them, and the lines of sadness and exhaustion around them.  The Bella he knew was gone, broken and destroyed, every bit of her fate reflected in face that stared back at him.  

It was the same face he had seen in Charlie's mind, only amplified before him in blood and flesh as she bit out the accusations that he so richly deserved.  

"_You lied to me. You DESTROYED me. You poisoned my life."_

The brief feeling of hope that surged through his empty veins when Bella told him she knew – that he had lied when he said he didn't want her – gusted out of him, extinguished as he realized how deeply she had misunderstood him, and how horribly his misguided attempt to protect her human life, the essence of her future, had gone wrong.

"_I want my goddamn life back."_

He had failed. His own fear, his arrogance, his damnable smug self-assuredness had destroyed the innocent girlhood of the woman who had stood before him, robbing her of the life he had hoped his martyred absence would give her.

Something had moved in her eyes, that final moment, when she tore the necklace from around her throat and flung it at his feet and the other man had called her inside. She had stared at him, her eyes dark, empty wells threatening to pull him into their fathomless depths, searching his face as an unreadable expression moved and flickered across her own.

Her eyes had softened for one brief moment, the lines around them smoothing until suddenly she was _his_ Bella again and he broke, and begged her not to go. Instantly she changed, the tension returned to her beautiful face, and she drew herself up, impossibly straight, sparing him one last enigmatic glance before she turned away and stepped out of his life. Was it contempt, hurt, fear, that had filled her eyes when she looked at him? He could not be sure. And now, he would never know.

Edward traced the bloody trinket that lay crumpled next to him on the wooden decking with numbed fingers, a rueful breath catching in his throat as he was finally able to see what the little bit of amber contained.

It was a tiny fly, forever preserved in a web of crystal gold, unchanging, and unchangeable. Just like him.

"_This is what I am."_

_I did this, too._

He was the spider to her human fly in that amber prison, and he had just as assuredly trapped Bella in the silken strands of his ridiculous attempt to preserve what he presumptuously thought to be her appropriate destiny. She had wanted him, and he had cast her aside, leaving her bound in the web of deceit that he had spun in order to pry himself away from her. He had hoped that she would somehow understand, that he was only trying to save her from his own damnation, but instead he had left her caught in a cursed virginal half-life, believing herself to be unloved, and undesirable – as painfully and pathetically chaste as he knew himself to be.

The shame of it, the agony of his idiocy welled up within him, a surging tide of anguish, choking him with heaving, dry, fruitless sobs as he clutched the tiny amulet that still throbbed with the warmth of Bella's body. She was gone – lost to him through his own fear, for that was what had guided him to the fatal mistake of letting Bella go.

He had been afraid: afraid of losing her, afraid of giving himself to her, afraid of her rejecting him. That was the true reason why he had imposed the pathetic barrier of Bella's human fragility on the sexual progression of their physical relationship: fear. The reality was that he could no more hurt her than tear off his own head, but to Edward the idea of surrendering himself and the heart that he had so carefully guarded for almost a century to the overwhelming intimacy of making love to anyone, let alone Bella, was terrifying.

Because he feared that Bella would eventually, and rightly, see him for what he truly was, and cast him out of her bed and out of her life, leaving him naked and exposed, and alone in the perpetual darkness of eternity. And so he had run away in order to save himself from the humiliation of her rejection; lied to her and fled like the worthless, monstrous coward he knew himself to be to save himself from the ultimate pain of inevitability.

Of course he was wrong: the agony he felt, seeing her, seeing _Bella_ again; watching her turn away from him with a look of shame and disgust was excruciating beyond belief. He would rather have been changed a thousand times over than feel the way he did when her eyes traced over him for the last time, as she turned away from him, heedless of his plea, leaving him unexplained, unresolved.

_How? _Thought Edward._ How can anyone be in this much pain and not die?_

But he knew he did not deserve the comfort of death. It was finally fitting, this eternal life, leaving him damned for all time with the perfect memory of his folly.

He was lost, unaware, buried in his grief, when he suddenly felt his shoulders being circled by a pair of familiar strong arms, and a cool hand pressed against his temple, guiding his bloody head to rest against the firm chest of his foster father.

_Carlisle._

_My poor Edward._

He could not breathe. He was drowning in misery, and Carlisle's voice in his mind, and the gentle, soothing pressure of his hand running through his hair as if he were still a young child, coupled with the barely audible hiss of compassion, seemed only to magnify the extent of his sins.

"Why can't I die?" he whispered into Carlisle's jacket. _ Please kill me_. "When will this ever end?"

Carlisle shushed him, rocking his lanky, helpless son like a baby.

_Edward, I am sorry, _Carlisle's voice whispered to him. _I chose this life for you for my own selfish reasons – because I was lonely, and needed companionship I took your natural death from you without your consent. You never asked for a life such as mine, and I cannot help but feel that your pain is my own fault._

Edward shifted in Carlisle's arms, wanting to protest – that his mess was all of his own making - even though he knew it to be true – they had parted ways once before over this very reason – but his outburst had weakened him and Carlisle held him still with ease.

_And yet, _Carlisle continued, taking a folded square of linen out of his suit pocket and gently wiping the blood from Edward's face with it, _from what_ _I saw of Bella tonight I think that there is more to this than you have told us._

He grasped Edward's chin between his thumb and forefinger in a patently fatherly gesture and raised the younger man's head up so he could look directly into his eyes. Two pairs of golden eyes looked into each other, one pair filled with warmth and compassion and paternal command, the other pair looking back in a mixture of sadness and panicked resignation.

_You have been lying to us Edward, and it is time for you to stop._

Edward choked out a shaky breath, wishing that the earth would open up and swallow him whole. The moment he had dreaded had finally come to pass, and there would be no running away once he revealed the extent of his shame, his deception. He sighed, and spoke out loud the words that would unravel the pain and confusion that had divided his family for the past five years.

"Bella didn't leave me. I left her."

**Thank you all for your support.  I promise I will respond to my kind reviewers.  I'm just crawling back to life myself.**


	10. Marmion

**All right my lovelies. First off, I would like to thank all of you who have read and reviewed my story. Your contributions have been an inspiring and greatly encouraging part of the crafting of this piece. And now, here's another offering for you on the altar of literacy. Hope you enjoy.**

Edward muffled his shaking voice against the silent cavern of Carlisle's chest.

"I told her I didn't want her so she wouldn't try to come after me and I left her. Alone. In the woods. I lied to her. I lied to you so we could leave and no one would ask why."

It was a diabolical plan, really. None of the Cullens would have doubted Edward's devastation at Bella's departure. Alice had been too preoccupied with Jasper in Denali to see what Edward had truly had planned, and Edward, in his obvious distress, had been more than capable of playing the part of the jilted lover – his perpetual state of self loathing easily and believably magnified by the rejection he experienced at the hands of a mere human girl.

After he had left Bella in the woods, picked his protesting body up off the forest floor and dragged himself home, it was easy to spin the lie that would take his family out of Forks, and out of her life forever: that after the frightful incident with Jasper on her birthday, Bella had realized the foolishness of her infatuation with him and had chosen a human life, and a future that included no association whatsoever with those of their kind.

Carlisle and Esme had been shocked and saddened by Bella's supposed disenchantment with them, the obvious pain and distress it caused their son, but had been pragmatic enough about the situation to see that leaving the area, leaving her alone, would be the best solution to ease Edward's hurt.

Rosalie had been surprisingly sympathetic towards him, and even, shockingly, towards Bella. _Poor, confused little girl_, she had thought, as Edward choked out his lies. _She really didn't know any better._

Emmett had broken his jaw. Always the loudest and most obnoxious of the bunch, Emmett was much more perceptive that Edward really gave him credit for. Emmett didn't need to be a mind reader or an oracle or an empath to see that Edward was lying, shaken and distraught though he was, and that no matter what Edward said to the contrary, Bella still loved him. Guessing the truth, or at least some portion of it, Emmett towered disapprovingly over his despondent older younger brother in silence for a moment, his mind deceptively quiet, before he let out a great hiss of disgust and knocked Edward out of the room; and then strode angrily out of the house himself.

Edward winced now, at the memory of that night, seeing it replayed, unfiltered, through Carlisle's mind, as he had burst into the white house by the riverside, incoherent with real grief, profuse with the lies he told also to himself; his father's helpless watching of Rosalie and Emmett leaving for Alaska, seeing the distress and sadness written plainly across Esme's face as the family she had so carefully crafted and nurtured fell apart in front of her eyes.

_What a mess,_ thought Edward ashamedly. _What a mess I've made of everything._

_Oh, Edward._

"Why?" Carlisle's voice rippled across the velvet darkness, echoing like a bell in Edward's ear as his head lay pressed under his father's collarbone. There was no accusation, no anger in it – only compassion, and it made Edward squirm with discomfort.

"I was afraid," he whispered shamefully. "We were so dangerous to her, and she was so fragile, so innocent. It seemed like every day I was waiting for her to realize it, for her to hate me – hate me for taking her normal life away from her. Bella trusted me, she had faith in me, and I could not bear to see her lose that, and to tell me to go."

Carlisle sighed, pulling Edward closer and giving him a small shake as he realized the inevitable destination of his son's actions.

_So you left her because you thought she might leave you?_

Edward nodded, almost imperceptibly, grief and remorse thickening his voice, making him tremble.

"I couldn't live if I knew she didn't want me. I _loved_ her . . . " and then softly, almost to himself: "I love her." He was breathing now in gasping sobs, the breaths wracking dryly from his tormented frame.

"_God,_ Carlisle, I've made such a mess of things. I told her I didn't _want_ her so she wouldn't get the chance to leave me. But even with my eyes open, she's all I can ever see. And tonight - " _Mother of God. _His body shivered with involuntary desire. Bella beautiful before him, everything he would ever want, nothing he could ever have. _I've made myself into a damned modern Tantalus,_ he thought sourly. _And Bella is my forbidden fruit. _It was somewhat mortifying, being held in the comforting embrace of his foster father, burning with an unrequited lust that he could not hide.

_What a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive. _

Carlisle's words rang dry and true in Edward's mind, and he barked out a rueful laugh.

"I was so afraid of her not wanting me, and I thought it would spare me, spare us the pain, if I left first, so she could start over, and not blame me for wasting her time. So I did it. After that damned party, when she finally saw what even her supposed friends could do to her, I told her that she wasn't any good for me and that I didn't want her anymore. That she should move on. Bella deserved a normal life, a _safe _life, and I – we – could not give that to her."

_I was so wrong – I was so wrong about everything._

Carlisle let out a half chuckle, half sigh.

"Oh, Edward. I think you should have asked her what she wanted first."

X X X X X

The elevator doors shut, blocking out the view from the lobby: the crowd of guests, the dark cavern of the bar, the crimson drops of human blood staining the pale pine floors, and leaving Bella and Dr. Reyerson alone in the brief comforting silence within.

Bella sagged back against the elevator wall, white faced and shaking, the pain in her hand finally surfacing after the shock and adrenaline of her confrontation wore off. The wound still bled, weeping slowly through the white terrycloth she had wrapped around it, and she clutched it reflexively, as though she were trying to comfort it, as her heart so desperately needed to be. Her eyes burned, her hand throbbed in cadence with each aching heartbeat.

Dr. Reyerson stood next to her, his shoulder brushing hers as he gazed at her impassively, his gray eyes looking her over as though she were some new sort of microbe, ready to burst into a bizarre emotional inflorescence.

Mercifully, the elevator doors slid open with a gentle 'ding,' breaching their silent confessional. Dr. Reyerson slung an arm over Bella's shoulders as he guided her out into the cooler air of the upstairs hallway. She leaned into him gratefully, her balance finally succumbing to the overwhelming stress of the evening. Her whole body felt as though it were coming apart at the seams. It emanated from the fiery pulse in her hand, radiating directly up her arm and lodging itself deeply within her breast, swelling like a poisoned bubble, waiting for the sharp point to rupture itself upon.

She didn't even bother to try stemming the tide of tears pouring, unbidden, down her cheeks; and the sobs she had desperately been trying to quell were finally ripping their way out her raw, swollen throat.

The bizarre sequence of the night, the talk, the unexpected appearance of Carlisle, of _Edward_, was too much for her overloaded senses, and the splintering agony of her already broken heart would have driven her to her knees, a weeping, sodden, bloodstained mess, unaware in the soft light of the lodge hallway, had it not been for Dr. Reyerson's iron grip on her shoulder.

Gently, he drew her into his darkened room, and she followed him numbly to the small communications table near the balcony in his suite, nodding in mute thanks as he helped her to sit, rearranging his suit coat over her shoulders, and poured her an inch of scotch, neat, into one of the glasses from the bar before going to his bags to retrieve one of the first aid kits that they both knew never to travel without.

Bella downed the contents of the glass in one gulp, shivering and gasping as the fiery liquid burned its way down her throat and settled, smoldering, in the pit of her stomach, and laid her aching head down on the table, her wounded hand stretched out in supplication on the table before her.

Returning with the large nylon bag that housed a wealth of supplies swiped from the university's nursing department, and a fluffy white towel from the bathroom, Dr. Reyerson set up his field of operations on the small, generic table. With a grim expression on his face, he gingerly pried the crimson stained bar towel away from the deep laceration on her palm, a low whistle escaping from his pursed lips.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Swan." The wound gaped at him, oozing blood from its ragged edges, shards of glass winking in the light as they prized their way deeper into her angry flesh. The cut raged in a jagged slash from within the mound of flesh below her thumb, severing cruelly across the life and heart lines of her palm. Her pinkie finger, the one that had snapped against Edward's cheek, was turned out at an unnatural angle, puffing swollen and bluish purple in elegant contrast to the scarlet gash that wept below it.

"What the hell did you _do_?"

Bella rolled her head against the cool surface of the tabletop, turning so she could peer into the doctor's eyes as they looked aghast, at the travesty of her hand.

"Did anyone ever tell you that I have a drinking problem?" she asked, thickly.

"Apparently," was his prompt reply, "This needs a doctor."

"You're a doctor."

"A _real _doctor, Swan. There's a surgeon here – "

"NO!" Bella shouted, her head whipping up from the table as she drew her injured hand into a fist, releasing a fresh surge of blood into the already soaked length of terrycloth, and then softer, "_Please."_

Dr. Reyerson looked at her resignedly as he swiftly put two and two together – Bella's explosively bizarre behavior and its coinciding with the her encounters with the two oddly similar golden eyed men, the image of the younger one flashing once again through the doctor's eyes as he remembered how their gazes locked when he looked out on to the scene on the outside deck, tension thrumming from the messy haired young man where he stood riveted, entranced by the golden vision of the woman before him while Bella's blood cut an accusatory swathe across his cheek.

"Of all the times to go macho on me . . . " he muttered, reaching across the table and drawing the appendage in question back into the light, hissing with sympathy and irritation. Reaching into the first aid kit, he pulled out a large bottle of iodine disinfectant, a smaller green and white bottle of superglue, and a pair of tweezers. Bella looked at the backwoods surgery emerging on the table before her and determinedly poured herself another inch of scotch.

"Make me pretty, doc," she whispered hoarsely, and knocked back another scorching mouthful of the pungent amber liquid as if it were spring water, instead of a rather generous helping of Glenfiddich.

X X X X X

Bella didn't even so much as twitch as Dr. Reyerson pulled a good portion of the stem of her champagne flute from the palm of her hand. She didn't make a sound as the purple brown iodine mixed with the pure scarlet red of her blood. And she did not scream as Dr. Reyerson held the jagged lips of the gaping maw of mutilated flesh in her wounded hand closed and sutured them neatly together with the liquid, searing, boiling thread of superglue.

Instead she wept silently, continuously, the tears pouring in salty rivers down her face as her chest heaved with great shuddering breaths; she was oblivious to the physical pain as the sight, the scent, the sound of Edward flashed in perfect Technicolor clarity before her streaming eyes – the stunned look on his face as she gave him her last goodbye replaying over and over in her mind.

Dr. Reyerson spared her a few furtive, searching glances as he worked, watching her eyes as they strayed, streaming and unfocused about the room, as if she was merely a bored, passive bystander, and not a blood spattered, tearstained young woman wearing a formal dress, sitting at a table while an older man in a suit attempted to close the violent gash across her open palm.

Once the wound in her hand had been attended to, Dr. Reyerson turned to the twisted lump that had once been a graceful line of flesh and bone. His eyebrows quirked as he looked from Bella's broken finger, and then, questioning, up into her eyes.

"I may or may not have slapped . . . some . . . thing," she admitted sullenly.

He snorted.

"Good thing you weren't punching . . . anything . . . this evening," he said dryly, matching her inflection, "I would have had to amputate."

Dr. Reyerson rolled the swollen mass of Bella's pinkie between his thumb and forefinger, feeling the grating of broken bones as he did so. Muttering again about "real" doctors under his breath, he pulled a tongue depressor out of the kit, and cut it in half. Brisk and business-like, as though he repaired graduate students' broken fingers on a daily basis, he pulled the fractured bone ends flush, splinted Bella's finger between the two ends of the depressor, and then taped the entire affair to her neighboring ring finger. He gave her uninjured fingertips a reassuring squeeze before placing her hand gently back on the tabletop.

Pouring out a good two inches of scotch for himself, and another half inch for Bella, he sat back in his chair, swirling the glass slowly under his nose, and stared at her, unblinking.

"Alright, Swan," he said, his voice cool and businesslike. "Spill."

Bella took a deep shuddering breath, tracing the rim of her glass with the forefinger of her good, albeit left, hand.

"What do you want to know?"

Dr. Reyerson let out an exasperated growl. "Don't you play coy with me, Swan. You know damn well what I'm talking about. Why did you walk out? And why in the hell did I find you in the middle of a fucking _bloodbath_ on the back deck?"

"Oh, that," murmured Bella, feigning innocence. A non-existent dinner, shock, and several large helpings of scotch did little to assuage her desperate apprehension. The glass that her finger whispered over glowed amber in the warm light of the room, the patterns within shifting with her movement, ghosts in a crystal ball. Her heart ached and throbbed with the memories, the specters that walked before her in her waking world.

Reaching across the table, Dr. Reyerson grasped her good hand, cradling it gently between his warm, callused palms.

"Isabella," he said gruffly, his gray eyes boring into hers. "I may be an animal behaviorist, but that doesn't mean that I can't see what goes on between a man and a woman – what I saw between you and that young man out there."

Bella flushed, squirming uncomfortably. The burning slash of her wounded hand was licking like fire against the base of her skull, the alcohol sloshing against the raw nerves in her gut.

"There was nothing out there, " she rasped softly. _Just the love of my life._ "Just some old baggage that needed to be put away."

"That's bullshit and you know it, Swan," he said, giving her hand a reproving shake. "I know you've worked hard on that "me against the world" image you've got going on, but I think I deserve better than your standard ice queen treatment."

Dr. Reyerson leaned closer, lifting Bella's chin as it trembled and sank, wiping away the tears that still trailed down her cheeks with his thumb. The silence of the room hung around them like the darkness of the night, velvet soft, blank with impassivity.

"I'd like to think I'm your friend, Swan," he murmured finally.

Bella let out a choking sob, nodding as the words rushed and crowded in her throat, her fingers clutching her mentor's hand reflexively.

"Of course - of course you are" Her voice was rough and raw. She scrubbed the tears out of her eyes with the heel of her wounded hand and then slung back the last of her scotch, coughing hoarsely and straightening her shoulders.

"You met Dr. Cullen inside?" It wasn't really a question. "That boy outside was his son – my baggage." Bella's eyes swam with the memory, seeing the remnants of happier days as they resurfaced from the secret corridors of her heart.

"I met him when I lived in Forks. We were both young – seventeen – but I just – " she cleared her throat and started over. "I fell in love with him. It was the easiest thing I ever did. My life before . . . Edward . . . was complicated, I was always balancing something: myself, my parents, but he made it simple - loving him made it simple. He was my whole world, he was my everything, but to him I was just a distraction. I was never enough to hold him," Bella paused, tasting the bitterness of her words on her tongue, bile and acid mixed with woe. "I was just plain Bella Swan, and he was . . . perfect. _I was a fool._

"Edward Cullen left me alone in the woods after my eighteenth birthday. He said he didn't want me anymore, that I was no good for him, that what I felt would fade until I realized it wasn't even real. He said it would be like he never existed to me."

She looked Dr. Reyerson directly in the eyes.

"He lied about that. I could no more forget him or what I feel for him that I can tell my heart to stop beating. And every day it gets worse. His face is the last thing I see before I go to sleep, and his voice is the first thing I hear in the morning. I feel his touch every time the wind blows, and his body between me and any other man. I can't cry, I can't bleed. I can't hurt without it being for him, about him."

Her eyes flashed, dark with passion and dread.

"_He won't let me go,"_ she hissed. "He watches my dreams. It's like I'm dead and buried and Edward Cullen is the dirt holding me in the ground."

It was too much. The pain, the longing, the heartbreaking humiliation of being unwanted was too much. Bella let her head drop forward then, her neck bending under the weight of her words. Pillowing her aching head in the crook of her one good arm, she began to cry in earnest – not the quiet, subdued tears from earlier, but great, noisy gulping sobs tore from the roots of her hair to the bottoms of her feet. Her breath, her grief was a torrent from her wounded soul, and it poured out of her unchecked. She wept for herself, for her sorrow, for the families that she had lost; and, at long last, for Edward, the boy she loved, the man she had left, a look of unutterable loss and confusion on his beautiful, perfect face, alone in the darkness.

X X X X X

She was crying forever, she would weep for forever, until her ocean tears would bear her away on the inevitable tide, a glass fisher float adrift, lost, and alone. The helpless grief speared her, pinned her against the table as her body heaved with ruthless sobs – the emotion she had tried so long, and so fruitlessly to repress.

Dr. Reyerson rounded the table then, and gingerly pulled her into his arms, mindful of the wounded hand he had just repaired.

"_I loved him!"_ Bella howled into his shoulder. _"I still love him."_ And then, softer, "I will always love him." _God help me._

Holding her gently, smoothing the damp, tangled hair out of her face, Dr. Reyerson marveled quietly over the fragile broken thing that wept and shuddered against his chest, so different from the frozen and unyielding woman he had come to know. This was someone new, some fascinating new being resurrected from the past by the elemental ghost of longing he could see hanging, almost tangibly, in the air between Bella Swan and the strange, still, young man.

He could not doubt her grief, or her sense of utter abandonment, as she clung to him like a buoy in the maelstrom tide of her emotions; but, recalling the expression on her former lover's face, Dr. Reyerson began to doubt whether or not Bella's feelings of loss were one sided.

No, the aura that had hung about them in the still night had been so thick with passionate yearning he could almost taste it. And the young man, her Edward, his eyes had clung to Bella as if he were drowning – as if the sight of her was the only thing keeping his head above water.

_What ever compelled him to let her go?_ He wondered. That was the mystery, and the explanation that Bella had given him did little to answer the real reason for her grief, for that boy's palpable anguish.

It was a damnable mess from what he could see: two people embroiled in their own emotional baggage, pushing so hard to escape from it that they had driven themselves apart – Bella's to the point where it was impossible for her to admit to feeling virtually anything, even love, and her young man, foolhardy as he must have been, to have somehow allowed himself to let her go, though he wanted her still.

And Bella continued to weep, her tears soaking through Dr. Reyerson's dress shirt, her sobs emanating from a seemingly bottomless well within her. Feeling somewhat awkward, and a little sticky, Dr. Reyerson pulled the cleaner towel he had brought from the bathroom off the table and began to softly blot the moisture from Bella's face, patting her trembling shoulder with his free hand, and making soft shushing noises into her hair.

After a seemingly interminable amount of time Bella's wracking sobs hiccupped into the slower cadence of rough, gasping breaths, punctuated by futile sniffling as her overloaded sinuses throbbed in protest. Finally, she lifted head, and grasping the bathroom towel, roughly swabbed it over her face before burying her nose in it and blowing for all she was worth.

"For Christ's sake, Swan . . . "

Bella looked at her mentor then, eyes swollen and bloodshot red, but surprisingly clear – the shadowed, hunted, _haunted_ look he had grown used to seeing mysteriously absent – and she arched an eyebrow at him, her nose buried in the towel. And she was _his_ Bella again, still dry and sardonic, but the prickly, carefully constructed fortress that she had built around herself was gone, crumbled and destroyed with the force of her tears. In _that _aspect of Bella there was someone new, someone softer, and oddly vulnerable, her eyes shining with a relieved gratitude.

"Thank you," she said, her voice low and rough as she brought her good hand up to squeeze his where it rested on one of her shoulders. "It feels like I've been waiting to do that for years."

X X X X X

The tension of the evening broke in that moment, retreating into the shadows of the room, taking Bella's ghosts with it; and she insisted, as the night wore on into the dark morning hours, and the scotch crept into her peripheral vision, that she was more than content with returning to her room. It wouldn't do, after all, to be seen emerging from Dr. Reyerson's suite in broad daylight, wearing her dress from the night before, and he reluctantly agreed.

After disposing of her impromptu handkerchief, Dr. Reyerson changed out of his sodden shirt, and Bella helped him clean up their makeshift operating table as best she could with one hand before he escorted her back to her room. By now, the majority of the conference's guests would be making their stumbling ways back to their respective rooms – or, in most cases, not their rooms, and neither Bella, nor Dr. Reyerson felt like dealing with her being accosted by those gentlemen who would rather try their luck with whomever they found creeping about the lodge hallways.

Bella's room was situated at the opposite end of the building from the doctor's, giving them a long moment of companionable silence as they walked, shoulders and hands brushing comfortably, Dr. Reyerson's dress jacket wrapped around her, announcing his supposed claim over her to any would-be unwelcome suitors.

She felt surprisingly light, walking barefoot next to her friend and mentor, wearing his coat and carrying her death-trap shoes. It was as if the flood of tears that poured out of her had cleansed the taint of her poisoned grief from her soul, and she was baptized anew: Bella Swan, Maverick, Sometimes Sad, but also Cared For and Understood, and Worthy of Companionship. There was no stain of pity, no dreaded look of painful understanding on Dr. Reyerson's face after she had poured her heart out to him (as well as on him) – just his usual expression of unflappable calm. Bella felt both relieved and liberated – relieved that she no longer had to dread Dr. Reyerson's reaction to the discovery of the source of her sadness, and liberated as the weight of five years of humiliating grief and sorrow and anger finally began to ease its way off of her shoulders, gently receding into the past where it belonged.

She paused when she reached her door, turning back toward Dr. Reyerson before she stepped in for the night, her eyes full of emotion, but finally, mercifully, dry.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For listening to me – for _believing_ in me."

Dr. Reyerson smiled gently at her and reached out to cup her cheek.

"I've always believed in you, Swan. The trick's always been to get you to not be afraid to believe in yourself."

She nodded slowly, as his thumb gently brushed away an imaginary line under her eye.

"It's the easiest thing to be afraid, isn't it?" he continued, musingly. "Fear doesn't take any work. You hide long enough behind it, and whatever it is you think you can't bear to face eventually goes away, and you've risked nothing. Courage on the other hand . . . " he leaned in and gently pressed his lips against her forehead. "That actually takes effort – and a hell of a lot of risk. But with courage, anything is possible – forever is possible, _love_ is possible, if you only you are brave enough to try for it."

Bella looked at him, eyes wide.

"Don't be afraid, Isabella, to reach out and take love when it stands before you. Don't let your fear make too you blind to see what I saw on that boy's face tonight."

Dr. Reyerson placed both hands on her shoulders in a gesture of gentle entreaty as Bella's mouth dropped open, her eyes searching his, as the comprehension of what he was saying bloomed within her,

"Have the courage to run to your fate, instead of away from it," he said softly, giving her shoulders another mild shake before he let her go. "I think you'll be surprised at what's waiting for you as soon as you stop listening to whatever goddamn lies you've been telling yourself."

He chuckled at the innocent confusion that swam over her face, and her utter, and rather embarrassed, confounded silence, giving her one last friendly, fatherly clap on the arm.

"Sleep on it, Swan. You're a bright one – you'll figure it out." And with a small smile he turned from her, and walked briskly back down the hallway, his words echoing like a bell, pure and true, to the very bottom of her heart, shaking her in her very soul.

_She had been blind, and only tonight could she truly see._

**Thoughts? Criticisms? Reviews are welcomed and appreciated. Also, holy cow, over 5,000 words! Did I really write all this?**


	11. As I Burn For You

**-Cue sound of exhausted authorial panting-**

**Here you go my chickens. Please accept this offer of appeasement should I not be able to update for a bit (and please know that I dearly hope my apprehension about a late post may be unfounded). Cheers!**

Bella gently closed the door on the retreating form of Dr. Reyerson, enclosing herself in the soft darkness of her tiny room. Her body ached, her hand throbbed and burned, and her dress rasped and chafed against the film of expelled grief that coated her skin. She let out a deep sigh as the weight of the night, of its events and revelations, settled about her shoulders, ringing in her ears.

The remnants of the Glenfiddich clouded her mind, rendering coherent – or at least productive – thought impossible, and surged uneasily in her gut. Bella felt utterly disgusting.

She slipped out of her dress and undergarments with grim relief, leaving them pooled like a dead thing on the floor, and made her way through the darkened room into the shower.

The geyser of hot water welcomed her, enveloping her sore and sticky flesh with its warm caress, easing the tension out of her bones as she leaned into it, holding herself up with her wounded hand as she draped it over the shower curtain rod and out of the stream of water. Bella completed her ablutions as best she could with one hand, scrubbing the invisible grime of her confrontation, her explosive grief, from her body roughly, as though she could scour the night's events away along with the layers of her skin.

Dr. Reyerson's words swam through her mind, tingling against her overloaded senses like the thick steam that rolled out of the shower, filling the enclosed space of the bathroom. He was right, she knew it; looking at her with his sharp gray eyes, he had seen right through the careful façade she had spent years crafting, but had been kind enough, wise enough to understand the secretive reasons that had been so important to her, to spare her the pity that she had so dreaded, and instead, demanded that she justify to herself the reasons why she had for all intents and purposes run away.

Washing the last remnants of shampoo down the drain, Bella turned off the shower, and wrung out the excessive water from her hair, letting it fall in a slick, silken rope against the heated flesh of her back. Stepping out of the tub enclosure, she caught a glimpse of herself in the clouded mirror, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to see herself as she must have appeared this evening, exposed and uncovered. Curious, captivated, she stepped closer, wiping the condensation out of the way, and looked with new old eyes at the reflection that swam in the glass before her.

The woman that stared back at her, frank in her nakedness, was really no different than the golden clad one she had seen earlier in the night, but that was not what had caught Bella's attention. For the first time in almost five years, she allowed herself to try and see the girl that Edward had left behind, and how she had been transformed into the woman that had stood before him.

Looking at her reflection, she could see the subtle differences worn by the passage of time. Her skin, rosy though it was from the heat of the shower, was still a pale ivory, but now it held a soft glow of health, instead of the pallor of inactivity that had tinged her encapsulated life in Forks. It clung sinuously over the elegant lines of muscle and bone that had replaced the yielding form of the young girl she had once been. Her hips had widened somewhat over the years, emphasizing the narrowness of her waist, the ripened promise of her femininity; and her breasts rose, high and firm over the delicate arch of her ribcage, rose tipped and full.

The sight of the newly apparent femininity before her in the fogged mirror of the lodge bathroom banished forever the image gawky boyish slenderness of the girl she remembered she had once been, reaffirming to her again what the many unwanted and seemingly unwarranted encounters with some of the males of her species had already told her: that as a woman, as a sexual being she was desirable, and that was how she had appeared before Edward tonight.

Bella felt her body flush with the new knowledge, squirming internally with an almost pleasant discomfort and she looked deeper into the mirror, as if she might see this new self peering out at her.

Her face was the same, red puffy eyes excepted, her skin pale and clear, the same tone it had always been, thanks to copious amounts of sun block, with only a smattering of faded freckles across the bridge of her nose – relics from her childhood. It was true that her cheeks had lost some of their softness as the residual baby fat finally melted from her body, and her eyes bore the tired lines of too much knowledge and not enough sleep, but in its essentials, her face had not changed.

Yet tonight, it – she – felt different. Looked different. Something like relief, something like hope shone out from within the paleness of her flesh, the deep brown of her eyes. It was fragile and ephemeral, the spark of life cradled within the thinnest of eggshells, but, insignificant though it may have been, it was hers for the tending. The fluffy white bathrobe with the lodge crest embroidered on it suddenly seemed like a suitable wrapping for the delicate and nascent thing growing within her; so Bella bundled herself up in it as best she could, hissing in pain as her wounded hand protested its sidling journey through the robe's sleeve, and then stepped from the steamy cocoon of the bathroom to the chill darkness of her room.

Though room itself was small, the lodge did not stint on the baser creature comforts. The bed was wide and soft, the white sheets silky and smooth, and the dark comforter was fluffy, and heavy with down. Bella could almost hear her body groaning with gratified relief as she crawled beneath the covers.

_Jake would have loved this bed._

But for once, Bella didn't begrudge the absence of her hairy nighttime companion, and happily arranged herself in an ungraceful sprawl across the roomy expanse of bedding.

For now she had the tiny seed of optimism growing within her, and so she didn't dread the quiet stillness of the night, nor the promise of her unbidden dreams that led her through the dark woods to a long and narrow and empty road. Bella was asleep almost before her head hit her pillow.

X X X X X

She awoke sometime later, suddenly out of a deep, languid slumber, strangely alert though the room was dark and silent, her senses tingling, and she realized that she wasn't alone.

_Edward._

Bella didn't need the light to see him: his scent permeated the room. It clung, thick and heavy, like incense, like opium, smoky in the recesses of her mind, settling like a drug in the heaviness of her bones, filling her nostrils, and slid against her tongue like a caress when she opened her mouth to take a panting breath, pooling in her lungs, racing through her veins and her desperately pounding heart, until it overtook her brain, overwhelming her, rendering her dizzy and weak, and helpless against the onslaught of his presence.

And so she could not move when the darkness shifted and coalesced next to the night blank window that looked over the Alaskan hillside. The shape of an arm, the curve of an ear, the midnight silhouette of a profusion of unkempt hair, moving closer until the watery light easing in through the bedroom window was blocked out by the bow of his broad shoulders. And though her habitual subconscious thoughts clamored within her, shouting at her to flee, to escape the agony of the man that destroyed her, for whom she bled with every beat of her heart, still she could not move.

So she lay, pinned on her back against the soft mattress, transfixed, as she felt the bed dip as he leaned over her, her numb body shifting with his weight, and the prickle of gooseflesh as his cool breath whispered against her eager, fearful flesh.

He did not speak – he did not have to. She was caught under his spell, the siren song of his body, the terrible perfume that rolled off him in waves – everything she had craved, and everything she had ever dreaded, wrapped up in an inhumanly beautiful package of immortal flesh and bone – and so she was unable to protest at the soft pressure of his hands as he traced the lines of her body beneath the down comforter, peeling it back, exposing her to him.

His eyes glowed at her in the darkness, vivid, alive, alight with desire and longing as he looked at her spread out before him, her fingers fisted in the sheets, powerless to move, her naked form covered only by the soft white bathrobe as her hair flared out against the pillows like Medusa's curls. The intensity of his gaze bore her helpless body into the bed, willing her into stillness as one pale, ghostly white hand reached out and touched the delicate skin of her neck, measuring the throbbing pulse of her jugular as her nervous blood thrummed within her veins.

Her mind rebelled at the contact – _it was not right, she was not his._ But her body was weak with wanting him, and she arched under his touch as the heat bloomed from the smooth tips of his cold fingers.

He breathed his delicious poisoned breath into her open mouth, his lips grazing over hers as his hand trailed down the front of her robe, and Bella lay still, stunned, captivated by the slow cool caress that parted the fabric covering her breasts, revealing them to the cool night air of her room. They sighed together as his fingers traced the roundness her soft, full feminine flesh, and his lips met hers then, tasting her sweetness and her sorrow as it mingled with his own scent in the perfumed the air around them.

Edward's mouth against hers was heaven and hell wrapped into one. It set her afire with lust, it turned her resolve to jelly as his lips, his hands, his eyes explored her new and unfamiliar woman's body, and made it his, made her _Bella_ again, weak and unsure, her soul wailing with unrequited love and ever present dread. She twisted and sighed against him as his cool fingers traced her heated flesh, as his mouth moved from hers and he tasted the skin of her throat, igniting a throbbing burn deep in the pit of her belly, an aching between her thighs.

Bella found she could move again when his lips released hers, yet her limbs were slow and restless, as though she were swimming, as if she were drowning. Her nerveless hands settled in gentle benediction over the beautiful mess of his hair as he traced over her taut nipples with an open mouth, distracting her as one of his long elegant hands wandered lower, undoing the tie of her robe, laying her bare to him as her heart throbbed and sang within her breast, interrupting the velvet stillness of the room with her violent, gasping breaths.

She began her own exploration then, sliding her fingers over the stiff collar of his shirt, and down, nervously working the slippery buttons through the starched fabric, easing the material off his shoulders as he rose above her, strong and fierce, tracing the beautiful broad planes of his chest, and then his own hands moved in place of hers, divesting himself of the rest of his clothing until he was as bare as she.

Gently, so gently, he placed her anxious palms high on his chest, where his heart would have beat, and slid his own hands between her legs, spreading them wide, granting him passage.

Bella bit her lip then, turning her hot cheek against the cool fabric of her pillow as she felt her body flush and swell, as Edward's body moved over hers, hard and cool and firm and sure, his narrow hips settling gently between her bared thighs. She choked out a sobbing breath, her thundering heart beating out strong enough for the both of them as his chest pressed against hers, and his lips again captured her mouth.

It went on forever, his kiss went on forever, soft and cool, and blistering hot against her lips, as she tasted his tongue against hers. She wanted it to never end, knowing in her deepest heart that it would, but for now, her poor overwhelmed body overrode the protests of her rational mind, screaming to her that she was a woman, _finally_, and that its demands for her submission to Edward, and his body in all its immortal masculine glory, were not to be denied, and she ground her aching pelvis against his, feeling, rather than hearing him as he moaned against her lips.

Her fingers slid unbidden from his chest and fisted themselves in his hair, tugging and pulling at him in silent, agonized ecstasy as his mouth trailed again over her body, ravaging down the arch of her neck, devouring the swell of her breasts; until at last with a small smile he reached up and grasped her hands, freeing them from their silken confines; and, gathering them into one of his own, he brought them to his lips, and kissed them reverently as his eyes gazed, unblinking, into hers.

They were frozen in that moment, his cool body bathed in the heat of her own, their eyes locked, chests heaving with desperate passionate breaths, as their bodies paused before their inevitable moment of dissolution and completion, and she felt him, strange and foreign and so very _right _against the secret flesh between her legs.

_Oh God, Oh God, Oh God_

The chanted words died on her lips, her body throbbed and soared, soft and transparent as a soap bubble, fragile against his predatory hardness. Maddening, fluttering sensations begging to be released swirled between her thighs as she lifted her hips to take him, and Edward groaned, low and guttural, in every way undone, and sank his teeth into the tender skin of her palm, tearing the night apart.

White hot pain exploded behind her eyeballs, all her breath left her in a savage hiss, and Bella's body arched off the bed, up and up and up, tight as a bow and up, as the racing fire burned through her wrist, warring with the lightening that shot over and over, deep and delicious through the cradle of her thighs.

And Bella woke then, suddenly, gasping and panting with guilty arousal, alone in her morning bright room, the real pain of her dream the result of her injured hand fisted in the sheets, weeping fresh crimson over their snowy whiteness, as her body shook with the lingering paroxysms of solitary pleasure, lush and heavy, still chastely wrapped in the monogrammed robe, her bed as empty and virginal as the night before.

_Jesus._

And helpless tears smarted in her eyes as the memories from the preceding evening came rushing back to her, as she resigned herself again to the knowledge that the man in her dreams would remain forever that.

_I mustn't, _Bella told herself, _I mustn't cry. I mustn't run away. _

_Not any more_.

But the pain was still fresh, from her hand, from her broken aching heart, from the sight of Edward, before her again in all his real and inhuman beauty, in the lovely nakedness of her newly awakened body's longing dream; and Bella couldn't help but let out a sobbing breath as she eased herself out from under the downy confines of her bed, tainted as it now was with unresolved passion and lust.

_It figures, _she thought wryly, in spite of her tears, _the first sex dream of my life has to be with the one man who was absolutely terrified of my body._

Though the dream stung her old fresh wounds, her aching body thoroughly confused by the odd mingling of desire and despair, Bella felt the strangle lightness of relief as she felt the fragile tendrils of the thing that had been born in her late night conversation with Dr. Reyerson still present in her mind: _hope_.

It was an odd thing, a foreign thing, and the newness of it so completely absorbed her senses as she rose to prepare herself for the day ahead that she almost didn't notice the small metal disc that winked softly at her from the nightstand beside her bed.

Small.

Shiny.

Round.

Faded pink paint.

Curved edges.

Satin metal gleaming with the repeated polish of smooth stone.

A tiny picture of a lemon in the center.

A bottle cap.

Spinning between nervous fingers on a dingy table in a tiny cafeteria in a little town that nobody knew and she could have cared less about.

A talisman from the past, glistening with innocent intent, shining up at her from the bedside table. And Bella's mind spun away and the vision before her swelled and expanded until all she could see before her was the cap from the lemonade bottle that Edward had swiped from her nervous hands as they spoke electric half truths to each other during an indifferent attempt at lunch all those years ago.

Now lying before her on her bedside table.

Oh_. _

_Oh._

_Oh, God._

**And I take this moment again for shameless begging for those of you who linger silent in the gallery: please let me know what you are thinking/feeling about my story. I take all thoughts and criticisms seriously, and I sincerely value all of your input - it is instrumental in my craftsmanship, as well as my motivation.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	12. Intermission: Policy of Truth

**Cue sound of desperate authorial panting. This had to be done, this had to be done.**

After a long morning of meetings with a slew of prospective investors, Dr. Reyerson retreated to the lodge dining area to mull over his paperwork, and the events of the night before. He was surprised to find Bella there, sitting alone at a small table next to the long bank of floor to ceiling windows that filled the room's entire south wall. She was munching absently on a bagel, her feet propped up on the chair next to her, staring, unseeing out into the bright Alaskan hillside.

She looked . . . good, Dr. Reyerson was happy to realize, better than he had expected. She had morphed back into the roughneck young woman he was more accustomed to, the filmy golden weeping vision of wounded femininity from the night before replaced by her standard armor of boots, blue jeans, thermal shirt, and bulky canvas mechanics jacket, her long hair scraped into a thick braid, instead of the loose cloud of mahogany silk she had worn it as during the conference. Her eyes were still (understandably) swollen and puffy, but clear, and the tension that usually radiated off her like a wall was just a subtle, humming undertone now, her usual rigid posture and stony face replaced by a languid pose, and an odd, slight flush on her cheeks.

He strode across the room to her table, swatting her feet affectionately off her chair with a handful of paperwork, taking their place as she shuffled uncomfortably upright.

"Manners, Swan," he said gruffly with a smile.

Bella looked at him sheepishly, her mouth full of bagel.

"How's the hand?"

She held up the body part in question, waggling it him, swollen and grotesque, but clean and dry. A blue black purple bruise leaked from underneath the medical tape that bound the last two fingers of her hand together, but her movements were fluid, and belied no sinister hidden pain.

"I've had worse," was her laconic reply. _Much worse._

Dr. Reyerson grunted in affirmation, looking out the window himself. Bella was a physiological masterpiece in terms of the amalgamation of old scars that she was dragging around with her. Beyond the reddened and perpetually scraped skin of her mechanic's hands, she bore on one arm a long, raised, twisted weal where someone much more skilled than a zoologist with a bottle of superglue had still had a hell of a time stitching it closed. Her elbows and knees bore a multitude of shiny patches of scar tissue, and he knew through her telling him that she had a plate in one leg from a bad break.

"_I spent most of my childhood trying to jump out of my own skin,"_ she had told him when he had looked in askance one hot summer afternoon at the clean pink line of the old surgical incision that her shorts revealed, tracing neatly down the length of her shin.

It was odd to think of the graceful, vehemently self assured woman that Dr. Reyerson knew Bella to be as being in any way awkward or clumsy, but he did not press her. Nor did she ever offer to elaborate on the multitude of mementos, physical or otherwise that she carried from her past.

_Not until last night._

Which brought him to the next item of business.

Dr. Reyerson sighed heavily, picking up his paperwork in one hand and tapping it edgewise against the table.

"Good Christ, Swan, you sure know how to pick them."

Bella put down the last bit of bagel she had been about to cram into her mouth and eyed her mentor warily.

"Um, what?"

"Your friends the Cullens, my dear. The doctor and his . . . ah, son. It was like a fucking puppet show." He was looking past her out the window, ignoring the bright red stain that swept uncomfortably across her cheeks, with an expression that could only be described as thoughtful amazement settling over his features. "We had a meeting this morning about an endowment they want to give to the university."

Her head shot up – eyes wide and flashing.

"_What?"_ she bit out, nearly choking as a multitude of angry suspicions crowded into her throat, "Why the hell –"

Dr. Reyerson headed her off at the pass.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Swan," he cut in, "Their offer was on the table a long time ago. And since, as you well know, I like to keep all the credit to myself, they had no way of knowing you were even in the program."

This was true to some extent: dreading being found by anyone from her past, let alone the Cullens, Bella had been adamant about maintaining her privacy, utilizing post office boxes and the university's anonymous enrollment policy as well as postponing the publication of any of her scientific research until she absolutely had to – protecting her personal information so thoroughly that hardly anyone on the university campus could say whether or not Bella Swan did in fact really exist.

_Edward wasn't lying last night when he said they didn't know where I was._ For some reason, that realization didn't comfort her the way she thought it would. Instead, a tiny new voice tickled at the back of her mind, tingling against her breasts and thighs, asking her if it wouldn't be so bad to be found after all. Bella shifted uncomfortably against the unfamiliar ache that seemed to have settled deep in the pit of her belly.

"So if it wasn't blood money, what was it? What the fuck do they want?"

"They don't 'fucking' want anything, Swan," Dr. Reyerson answered, looking at her pointedly, "Except to maybe unload a shit pile of cash before tax season."

That was the usual reason. From experience, he knew to look at most offers of philanthropy with a jaundiced eye – the rich and endowed usually tried to find some way of making the disposal of capital something more than mutually beneficial; to wit, they disguised their need for write-offs as either charity or ecological responsibility. Except that the Cullens seemed to have been gifting a great deal of funding exclusively to environmental science and environmental studies programs.

He leaned back in his chair. "I suppose the environment is as good a place to hide money as anywhere else," here he paused musingly, "The university needs the money, the program needs the money, hell, _I _need the money, but no one arranged this to hurt you. I assure you, Swan, this whole meeting is about as bizarre a coincidence as it ever gets."

Bella let out a mirthless chuckle.

_Isn't that the story of my life, _she thought darkly. _If only you knew._

"So what about this morning?" she prompted, ignoring his token attempt to placate her. Her own morning certainly didn't bear telling – least of all to him.

_Sex dreams, forsooth._

Dr. Reyerson stretched himself out, legs straight, feet crossed in front of him, supporting his graceful slouch by resting his elbows on the narrow arms of the chair, assuming his classic storyteller pose. He was going to enjoy this.

"Those two men walked into that conference room this morning smug as can be – loaded to the gills, mind you, and don't they know it – and for whatever reason, that boy of yours takes one look at me and completely loses his mind."

She couldn't help but say it: "You _do_ seem to have that effect on people."

"Shut the fuck up, Swan, I'm not the one with crazy ex here."

Bella growled and kicked his crossed feet. Dr. Reyerson shot her a teasing glare.

"I'm serious, Swan, you should have seen it. I've never seen anyone try to scalp themselves with their bare hands before."

Settling back in her chair, her newly aware body flushing uncomfortably though it was with its reacquaintance to Edward's physical presence, Bella snorted with uncontrollable laughter, picturing Carlisle's pointed looks and Edward's frustrated, hair pulling exasperation as they volleyed back and forth unwittingly in front of an experienced animal behaviorist. Painful as the Cullens' sudden reemergence in her life was, Bella suddenly felt she would have given any money to see Edward squirm helplessly against the onslaught of uncensored thoughts streaming out of her mentor, the one man who knew her best, all under Carlisle's watchful and knowing eye.

_Poor Edward,_ she thought, not completely unkindly.

And then Bella proceeded to have a very vivid image flash before her of herself drawing his nervous hands out of the tangled mess of his hair, cupping his cheeks between her palms, tilting his head back to taste his throat, tracing his Adam's apple with her tongue as one hand trailed to his belt . . .

Mentally, she slapped herself, hoping that Dr. Reyerson could not see the flush that she was sure painted her cheeks.

"And?" she prompted, desperate to quell the odd, conflicted wave of curiosity and longing surging through her. Knowing Edward, and Dr. Reyerson, this had to be good. "What else did _my_ boy do?"

"It wasn't so much what he did do . . . " Dr. Reyerson trailed off a bit, chuckling at the memory, "He just looked so goddamned uncomfortable – from the minute he walked in the door all he could do was stare at me like I ran over his sainted aunt in the church parking lot with his own car – sitting there like his ass was on fire, not saying a word. And his father, the good doctor, across from me, cool as damn it, acting all the while like his son wasn't right there next to him going to pieces."

He looked her then with an unmistakable glint in his eye.

"You must've been a miracle worker, Swan, if you ever got more than ten words out of the boy – I don't think I ever heard him say anything that had more than one syllable in it the whole time we were in that meeting."

"Not for your lack of trying, I'm sure." From her own experience, Bella knew there was nothing Dr. Reyerson loved better than to capitalize on someone else's discomfort – usually hers – and that it was something he excelled at. And knowing that Edward _knew_ and that he had to play along took a big chunk out of the pedestal of smug self-assuredness that she was pretty sure he was standing on.

Bella smiled at the thought.

And was pleasantly surprised.

For the first time in five years, she was able to talk, able to think about him – about _Edward_ without the familiar stab of aching grief that seemed to rip, from her heart to her backbone, mindless of her desperate attempt to smother it, to keep it from overtaking her, destroying her.

Maybe it was the fit of stormy weeping from the night before that had finally released her, or the fact that the sight of him did not kill her outright, like she had been so sure it would; or perhaps it was the simple fact that Dr. Reyerson now held the knowledge of her secret grief; and instead of looking at her with the compassionate understanding that she so horribly dreaded, he challenged her, challenged her pain, drawing it out of her like the insidious poison it had become. It was the sweetest relief she had ever known.

Part of her still hurt, it was true, but now the wound bled clean, the infection of self doubt and misery gone; and like the horrible slash on her palm, and the broken bones in her hand, it would eventually heal and fade, becoming part of the background of hurts and joys, and loss that were the myriad bits that made up the entirety of Bella Swan.

And so she smiled, real and genuine and open as the sun, as she thought about her mentor, armed unknowing with all the ammunition of her past, deliberately picking at the raw bundle of nerves she knew her former lover to be.

It was funny, and frankly, it was really nothing less than what he actually deserved.

For whether or not she would ever know or understand the real reason why he left her – if it were not for the reason he gave – the presumptuous audacity with which Edward had assured her that she would forget him, his family, was enough in her eyes for him to have earned a great deal of discomfort at the hands of the man who was best equipped to ensure that Edward felt every last stinging bite of the reality that his arrogance had gained for him.

All the same, Bella did her best to ignore the surge of jealous longing that welled up within her – that Dr. Reyerson had been in the same room, breathed the same air, shared the same thought as him – that she was not there to endure the punishment of Edward's presence, to still the new feminine clamor that surged through her blood, staining her cheeks, burning uncomfortably between her thighs.

And so she fingered the small, rounded bit of metal in her pocket while she smiled, turning it over and over, the small faceless clock of her eternity, the dismembered, decapitated embrace of her infinite longing. It was bittersweet to her now, this tiny remainder of her past – the way in which it had come to her – slipping back into her reality as quietly and stealthily as Edward must have, leaving his token remembrance of their love, while her body twisted, aching and alone, between the white sheets of her unconsummated desire.

Bella and Dr. Reyerson sat for a moment in contemplative silence before he responded.

"No," said Dr. Reyerson, finally, in a thoughtful tone, recalling the oddly charged atmosphere of the boardroom they had occupied not half an hour earlier, omitting his parting words to Edward that he was fairly certain Bella would not have appreciated even though they were on her behalf, "Not for lack of trying."

It had been an odd encounter at best.

The older man, Carlisle his name was, had been pleasant enough; his surprise when the topic of Bella's presence in the program was brought up was sufficiently genuine that Dr. Reyerson was able to dismiss any lingering suspicions about their interest. But there was just . . . something about the two men that was off . . . something he couldn't quite place.

Edward's strange behavior, he supposed, he could understand. He hadn't been lying to Bella the night before when he told her that the boy must still have feelings for her – he could read it in the way the young man looked at him, eagerly, searchingly, with a horrible yearning dread, as if he knew Bella would reappear before them if he only stared at him long enough. It was a look that was quickly replaced with something else, something that Dr. Reyerson couldn't completely identify, and that was when the boy seemed to come unhinged, staring at him with an expression of panicked horror, eyes wide, nostrils flaring.

And all the while, Carlisle sat calmly before him, an island of tranquility in the bizarre maelstrom of still emotions that seemed to fly unchecked from his red headed foster son, as they worked out the necessary details for the establishment of the endowment that the family wished to give, some of which that would require another series of meetings with the university's board of trustees on location back in Montana.

Yet none of those things seemed explain the strange undercurrent of latent energy that they both gave off – a sort of urbane, coiled, anticipatory stillness – or the oddly similar way the two men, unrelated as he knew them to be, walked into the room, fluidly, with a stealthy grace. Or their eyes, both pairs piercing, golden, and unsettlingly familiar.

Eyes that fixed him with a quiet wounded ferocity as he reached out and grabbed Edward by the elbow as they were leaving the conference room. Pulling the younger man close, Dr. Reyerson still had to tilt his head up a considerable distance to hiss a warning into his ear as they slipped through the doorway out into the hall.

"I don't know what happened between you two and I don't want to know, " he whispered, fixing Edward with a steely gaze, "But if I _ever_ find you sniffing around my assistant, or forcing yourself on her unwanted, I'll cut your Gucci wearing balls off."

For a moment the two men were frozen there in the hallway, gray eyes looking piercingly into gold, an aura of shocked surprise swirling in the air around them. And Dr. Reyerson had to fight the strange urge to rip his suddenly sweating hand off the younger man's sleeve and hide it behind his back as he watched the golden color drain abruptly out of Edwards eyes as his pupils dilated, black and fathomless, impossibly large in his pale face, leveling a savage pointed glare at him.

Something passed between them – some odd elemental shiver, and then Edward whipped his arm out of Dr. Reyerson's grasp and spun away, his long angry strides quickly overtaking his father's as he stalked down the open hallway.

That thing, that strange course of primal energy was something he didn't place until he found himself alone later in the day, after another round of meetings, and after Bella had retreated to her room with a singular wave of her mangled hand, muttering something desultorily to him about catching up on some reading. Her hand caught the light, the medical tape flashing white in the brightness that poured in from the open bank of windows, and suddenly the gesture reminded him of something he had seen when they first met: a mark on her wrist that glistened oddly in the light as Bella reached out to shake his hand when he accepted her into the program.

It was a relatively small scar, silver and faded, but as scientist who had spent a great deal of his life in close proximity to a multitude of carnivores and the scattered remains of their prey, Dr. Reyerson knew a bite mark when he saw one. Only this one did not bear the typical narrow muzzled slice marks of a meat eater, but instead had all the macerated, rounded contours that told him that that mark could have only come from the jaws of a human. And to leave a scar so easily identifiable, it had to have been incredibly deep, and crushingly painful – human teeth, after all were not terribly sharp – situated as it was right over the hidden path of her brachial artery.

Remembering it now, Dr. Reyerson suddenly realized why the Cullens' eyes were so familiar: they stared back at him almost daily when he locked eyes with the creatures that he was studying. And the images swam before him. A deep silver mark on an innocent girl's arm, faded, but not forgotten, flashing at him accusingly in the pale northern sun, reminding them both of the past from which she had run, that was shining once again in two pairs of identical golden eyes. Yellow gold, like the wolves, still, inhuman, predatory. _Predators._

_Jesus Fucking Christ._

**This chapter was bloody hard to write. It is a necessary piece of the story - it will all make sense, soon I promise. In the meantime, please tell me if this is working for you - or not as the case may be. I'm dying to know. Please feed my insecurities, they're really hungry tonight.**


	13. La Belle Dame Sans Merci

**Boy howdy, kids, here's another long one. This ought to clear a few things up - or complicate them. Because you know I like to do that.**

Edward Cullen was having a thoroughly wretched morning, following a wretched evening that seemed to flow effortlessly into the streaming tide of the amalgamation of parts and experiences that made up his wretched life. The early morning clouds had lifted during his . . . meeting with the wiry, steely eyed man who had taken Bella away from him the night before, and the bright sun left him marooned within the stifling sanctuary of the lodge. Unable bear the further insult of company, human or otherwise, yet unable to leave, and reluctant to risk exposing himself more than he probably already had, Edward was left with no recourse other than to beat a shameful retreat to his room, to sit in silence with his thoughts.

He could hear Carlisle's voice calling out to him in his mind, admonishing and sad, but he ignored it, brushing the older man off as he passed by him in the hallway, walking almost impossibly fast, wanting nothing more than to give into the overwhelming urge to run tearing across the Alaskan hillside, faster and faster, as if the wind of his passage could cleanse the filth and the stain of the past twenty four hours from his damnable immortal body. But he couldn't. Instead, he slunk, cowardly and alone, to the darkened confines of his room where he knew he would spend the remaining daylight hours, pacing like a caged animal as the day's events flashed before him unbidden from his cursed perfect memory.

Desperate to escape the multitude of emotions swarming through his body, Edward flung himself down on the wide bed, flat on his back, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, as though the resulting pressure would blind him to the taunting visions that flitted from his overactive brain.

If he had a pulse, it would have been pounding like a hammer behind his eyes.

_Why? How?_ His tortured mind raced furiously. _How was it possible?_

In all the world, in all his long life, he couldn't even begin to calculate the insurmountable odds that he would ever encounter the only two minds he found impossible to penetrate– and what's more, that he would see them together, a united front of impassivity, guarding the deepest secrets, of his past, of his future, that he was so desperate to unravel.

The sheer coincidence of the meeting – the conference, the reappearance of Bella, the strange, still, gray-eyed man who stood at her shoulder whose piercing glance saw right through him – was maddening.

Edward had tried to convince himself that the silent wall he had been met with last night was simply a product of his own, understandable distress. That the shock, the sheer presence of the woman he so desperately and unfailingly loved, desired, _craved_, the way in which he appeared to him, left him blinded, momentarily deaf to the voices that shouted, unbidden and unwelcome in his ears.

And so he had passed off the encounter as an anomaly, a bizarre malfunction of his own ability, muted as it was by the unavoidable distraction of Bella.

Until this morning.

He had been utterly unprepared to see the man from the night before waiting for himself and Carlisle across the table from them in the boardroom. For a brief moment, he had allowed himself to hope – that he would be able during the meeting to glean from this stranger's mind the lost history of Bella – the past he no longer had a right to. But as the introductions were made, he could feel the opportunity slip from his hungry fingers as his desperate gift strained to hear . . . nothing.

Silence. That was all.

He had started, stared, and looking into Dr. Reyerson's steel gray eyes, had found himself dragged unwillingly into their silver depths as they shimmered before him, suddenly opaque, like a still pond on a cloudy day, an imperfect mirror reflecting every angle, every surface of his superhuman being. It was utterly confounding.

He could hear nothing, see nothing of the other man's mind, but the reflection of himself, magnified a thousand times, mercilessly exposing every move, every expression, exposing him for the shallow, flawed fearful being he knew himself to be. The older man had seemed to read him, sum him up and dismiss him completely, from each tangled hair on his head, to the very smallest pore of his perfect cold, immortal skin, and had flung the resulting visual embodiment of his opinion right back into Edward's inner eye. It was a vision that had throbbed and swelled in his head until he barely think, barely concentrate on Carlisle's voice as it hummed in the room, echoed in his own thoughts.

_This is who I am, _he had thought. _ This is how she sees me._

Dangerously alluring, yet absolutely wretched, crippled as he was by his own self doubt, the guilty sin of his existence, magnified in vivid detail through the shrewd eyes of a human. Edward had been absolutely mortified.

The ultimate humiliation, however, had come at the end of the meeting: the moment when Dr. Reyerson had pulled him aside and threatened . . . him; because it was true, skulking creeping creature that he was; but the knowledge of the truth did little to alleviate Edward's ultimate embarrassment as his frantic eyes caught the subtle stiffening of Carlisle's shoulders as Dr. Reyerson's sibilant admonishment reached his accentuated hearing. And it had terrified him, too, knowing that he was so transparent, that a mere human could slice through the careful façade he had crafted, and pull out the small frightened thing that lurked in his dead heart like an infection – the love that he still had for Bella, and the loathing of himself that made him cast her away.  
He had not been able to help the ferocious, agonized glare he shot at the doctor, feeling the rawness of his insides as the older man so quickly prized him apart, smugly self assured, and yet woefully naive; and the overwhelming horror he had felt as he saw the recognition of it flash across Dr. Reyerson's face – the sudden elevation of his pulse, and the faint dew of perspiration that sprang up on his brow – and knew he was afraid.

And it was not the normal, subconscious dread that all humans (Bella excepted) held for him and his kind, but the real visceral realization that there was something not quite right, not quite _human_ about him_._

It was a slip, a damnable slip, but not a surprising one. The probability that someone would see through the glamour, the luring loathsome exterior that he and his family displayed to their potential human prey was higher than anyone really wanted to admit, and the reality of the matter was that they had all been living, as it were, on borrowed time. Yet the doctor surprised him, for though his fragile body betrayed his instinctual realization, the man did not move, did not flinch, but instead held his ground, his grip damp, yet sure on Edward's deadly arm, his gray eyes boring mercilessly into Edward's own as he saw the reflection of them in his mind as color drained out of them in feral dread.

Edward scrubbed his fingers roughly through his hair at the memory of that moment, as if the frantic motion could scour the unflattering image of himself out of his mind – perfect, powerful, and yet pathetically unsure, torn and sneaking, isolated in the self assured perception of his gifts, as well as his inadequacies – as Dr. Reyerson saw him, as Bella must have seen him as they stood before each other last night, the gulf misunderstanding and self doubt yawning wide between them.

Carlisle, correctly sensing the tenor of his thoughts, had not given him the time during the remaining hours of the night after their disastrous reunion to withdraw into his usual cocoon of ruthless self judgment, but instead dragged him forcibly out into the dark Alaskan wilderness, making him hunt until Edward was sure he could hear the fresh blood sloshing up to his ears.

It worked, to some extent: the frantic rage and grief that had threatened to consume him had lessened with the night's exertions, giving him ample time to realize that beating down Bella's door, and prostrating himself on the sacrificial altar of her worthy contempt would do little to resolve the misunderstanding that was completely of his own making. But it did little to assuage terrible urgency of what he now knew: that he could no longer go on in the living hell that was his existence in a life without Bella in it.

Not after last night. Not after he had seen her, wrapped in gold, vital, lissome, feminine and full. Looking at her, tasting the air that she breathed, the promise of her flesh singing to him in a way her blood never could, Edward had never been more painfully aware of the most powerful remnant of his lost humanity – that beneath his hardened and predatory exterior, he was still a man, and the call of his body for hers could not be ignored, whether his rational mind agreed or not.

He wanted her. _God,_ how he wanted her.

But more than that simple act of physical possession, Edward wanted Bella to want _him_, flawed damnable creature that he was, to accept him, to forgive him, to understand that the grossest of his mistakes had been made out of his unfailing love for her; for her to know that he had fallen prey to his own fear of losing her – either to the monumental dangers that inevitably surrounded his life, or her own falling out of love with him.

For seeing her last night – the embodiment of his every desire – made him realize that none of that mattered – her mortality, his own fear – if he could not compel her to believe, once and for all that he loved her, and that his love was as fixed and unending as his own eternal existence; and that it did not matter so much if she could no longer return that love, so long as she knew the truth.

The realization, the knowledge of it, had hit him with all of the certainty of a thunderclap after he returned to his room in the quiet predawn hours sitting perched on the end of his bed, with Bella's broken, bloodied necklace cradled in his long dexterous fingers. It had filled him with sadness, looking at the tiny insect caught in the amber matrix, knowing that he had just as assuredly caught her in the thrall of his lies.

_Poor little fly,_ Edward mused in the solitary darkness of his room, whispering his finger over the glossy surface. _Poor Bella. Will you still fly if I set you free?_

And suddenly he knew what he had to do.

X X X X X

It was the strangest feeling of déjà vu, slipping once again into a room where Bella slept, unaware of his intrusion. Following the diluted scent of her freshly spilt blood, finding her room had been almost ridiculously easy, and Edward only hoped he was still familiar enough with the memory of her heartbeat to recognize whether or not she was deeply asleep.

Swiftly and skillfully he picked the lock on her door, and slipped, unnoticed into the darkness of her room. Listening carefully to the slow steady breaths and the thick, rhythmic beats of her heart, he sighed in relief, knowing from his long ago experience that she would not wake, and that, fortunately, she was beyond speaking. The perfume of her blood coiled and curled throughout the darkness room, pulsing with her soft exhalations, wrapping around him with its familiar siren song.

He wanted to weep, he wanted to curse himself for the enormity of his mistake, he wanted to curl up on the bed next to her like a child. Leaving her side even after so brief and encounter the night before had been almost impossible, even with the intercession of Bella's unknown rescuer, and he did not know what he would do, were she to call his name in her sleep – if he could ever bear to be parted from her again.

He was at her bedside before he knew it.

And there she was before him, sprawled rather ungracefully on her back, yet utterly beautiful. Bella lay with her dark hair fanned out on the sheets in a silken halo, her injured hand resting next to her head, the other rising and falling with each breath as it lay on the gentle curve of her breast.

He dared not linger, lest she wake, lest he slip – not kill her, for the desperate longing Edward felt for her in his heart far outweighed the burning call of her blood, but rather give into his greatest desire, and take her in his arms, never to let go. And so Edward allowed himself one horrified glance at the mangled mess of her palm, as it lay face up to him on her pillow, split open like some pagan offering; and the barest touch of his fingers, against her temple, the elegant arch of her throat, the rounded protrusion of her collarbone, before he left his gift to her, and forced himself to leave the room.

The bottle cap.

The insignificant chunk of metal that was the only physical reminder of her he allowed himself to possess, from that one day in their fledgling romance when they gently danced around the truth – both knowing, but too afraid to say – that he had kept, and carried with him ever since, deep in his pocket, turning it over and over in his nervous grasp, until it was worn like satin between his hardened fingertips.

He laid it on the nightstand where he hoped she would see it when she awoke, and what's more, that she would know what it mean to him – that last memento from their shared past. That she would see with her own eyes the truth: that she had ever been close to his heart, and recognize that it was his own sheer fearful self assured stupidity that had goaded him into his most damnable folly that fateful day when he let her go, and left her alone and broken in the woods.

Sparing her still form one last look, he felt his dead heart swell and burst, as he stood, transfixed by her mortal beauty, only able to tear himself away when the quickening of her pulse broke him from his reverie, and Edward had beat a hasty retreat, and flung him self out into the hallway, breathing deep gulping breaths of the cool stale air that did not taste of Bella, of sadness, of the latent desire now come to life, threatening to consume him.

X X X X X

Bella was restless. Sitting with Dr. Reyerson, discussing the reappearance of her lost lover had ignited the resurgence of wave after wave of memories that she had been so desperate to repress for the past five years. She had begged off his suggestion that she accompany him to the afternoon meetings, citing the need to catch up on some reading as a worthy excuse – but really Bella simply needed to process the events of the night before – and she knew Dr. Reyerson wasn't one to be fooled, after all.

At first she had tried to find distraction within her room, tainted though it was by the lingering sense of _Edward_, the wide bed smack in the middle of it, lingering in her subconscious like a sin, but as the day crept on, and the bright sunlight bled through the partially closed window shade, Bella realized that her safe haven lay in the unavoidable exposure of the afternoon light.

Which was she why she soon found herself on seated one of the lodge's open lower decks, her body slung carelessly in one of the lounge chairs, her ivory skin drinking in the sun, an open book on her lap, and a large steaming mug of coffee on the table beside her. The deck itself looked out on the southern exposure of the larger clearings surrounding the lodge, taking advantage of the broad open meadow, and the warm, sun baked scent of the fertile ground, the late season wildflowers and the low scrub grass as it perfumed the afternoon air.

Bella had chosen a spot near the outside railing, the bright rays of the sun an unintentional moat around her in the wide open space of the wooden terrace. A light breeze lifted the stray tendrils of her hair, carrying with it the scent of innocent pines and fresh sea air. It was heaven, it was peace, and she could barely concentrate.

A book sat open on her lap, as her unseeing eyes stared at a story that was not written between its pages. The tide of reminiscence had taken her, sweeping her along to a more secluded place, in a small meadow outside of Forks, where a young girl and a glisteningly pale boy lay together on a blanket, reading pages to each other out of a shared book. They would pause and smile at each other, smile and kiss, until at last, the boy took the book from between the girl's fingers, tossing it carelessly onto the ground behind him as he set his mouth on hers, and bore her body down beneath his on the blanket.

And Bella remembered those summer afternoons, the shared smiles, the slow kisses and the perfumed air. When Edwards' eyes had shone into hers, light and carefree, when he touched her until her mind swam and her body ached, and breathed his own thick gasping breaths into the hollow of her throat. When she was still a child, and the blood that sang in her veins bore only a hint of the feminine promise of her womanhood, now suddenly come alive, in the cool clean air of the solitary Alaskan hillside. It throbbed and scorched through her body, drowning her senses in it, until all she could see, could think, and smell and taste was Edward.

The Edward of her past, pure and chaste, and perfect; the Edward of her dreams, dark sensual and dangerous; and the real Edward, flawed and afraid, and as broken as she.

_Edward,_ her mind whispered to her.

_Edward,_ her body called back, crackling with electric desire.

And with the smallest voice, in a trembling wail, her fearful, dreadful heart pleaded for _Edward._

She reached into her pocket, slipping her fingers over the silken surface of the old bottle cap, the remnant from her past that was now inexplicably bound to her future, and again was grateful for the small surge of comfort it gave her.

The soft wind shifted then, whisking around her on the open deck, bringing with it the scent of something new, something exotic, and utterly familiar.

And so she didn't have to be told, didn't have to turn around, to know that Edward stood behind her, pressed against the shadowed wall like a guilty child. And she knew he could not come out, could not come to her side, protected as she was by the bright rays of the sun, and though her heart ached with it, the knowledge made her powerful and unafraid.

"_Thank you," _she murmured to the rigid form behind her.

And she felt the silence nod.

His voice, when at last she heard it, was quiet, sing song and dreamlike as it was the night before as the whispered words of an old poem danced against her ears.

"_I met a woman in the meads,_

_full beautiful – a faery's child,_

_her hair was long, her foot was light,_

_and her eyes were wild."_

"Keats?" she breathed as the pages of the book in her memory came back to her.

_Keats. _

They had been reading Keats that day in the meadow, laughing softly together as Edward confessed that she had bewitched him, even as Bella lamented that no one could ever say about her that her "foot was light."

She smiled, albeit somewhat sadly at the recollection, not daring to look back at him lest she see more than just the coincidence of their shared memory on his face. As if he finally heard her thoughts, he spoke aloud the final stanza, the one that he always said was about himself,

"And this is why I sojourn here,

alone and palely loitering,

though the sedge is whither'd from the lake,

and no birds sing."

"I'm surprised you remembered." Her voice sounded oddly thick in her ears as her heart began to race.

"Oh, Bella," his own reply was uncharacteristically rough. She could hear the gentle scraping of his fingers against the cedar siding of the lodge, as if he were trying to hold onto it. "I could never forget."

Her pulse thrilled as something – _was it hope?_ – shot white and hot through her desperately beating heart, but she could not help the acid reply that bit out from between her lips.

"I thought you would be too distracted." She stared, eyes wide and unblinking, out into the brightness of open ground.

"Please, Bella, _please. _I was _wrong,"_ Edward ground out, his voice jagged like a wound, wanting nothing more than to fly to her side, to force her eyes on his so she could see the truth in them – hating the sun that kept them apart. And then softer, "I was such a fool."

Bella whirled then, leaping to her feet, glaring at his shadowy figure, aching with the uncertainty of his words, lost and angry, desperate for the assurance that he was suffering too.

"A fool? For _what, _Edward? For loving me? For loving a plain, stupid mortal girl?" Her mind rebelled at the complete ludicrousness of the situation: woman and vampire, arguing on the deck of a fancy tourist lodge over the reasons why their relationship went south. "Or was it because I didn't feel love as strongly as _'your kind'_ as you so eloquently put it?"

"_NO, goddamnit,"_ Edward hissed, goaded into action. "Bella, please, _listen to me."_

"_Why? _ Why should I?" _You never listened to me. You never believed how much I loved you, how much I wanted you._

"Because I LIED!" Edward roared, undone on the hillside, his hands clutched reflexively into fists. "I _lied_ to you. I lied to my own family. I lied to myself."

Bella looked at him, eyes wide, deep and fathomless.

"We were too dangerous for you. _You saw that_. Leaving was the only way to keep you safe."

She scoffed at the excuse.

"I'm a danger to myself, Edward," she taunted, low and breathless. "You _saw_ that."

She watched the muscles tense and flex in his jaw, saw his fingers twitch as if they wanted to reach out and grab her. Absently she wondered just how close he was to breaking the rules, how much he was already in trouble for lingering in the shadows, his skin glowing strangely in the reflected light.

"What was the real reason, Edward?" and her voice was tired, flat and dead. "Where was the lie you told me?"

Edward stared at her, his golden, burning eyes boring fiercely into hers.

"I told you that I did not love you, that I didn't want you anymore," he whispered, the words dropping heavily in the suddenly still air around them. "I lied. Bella, I _lied._ I _love _you. I will always love you," he paused, his shoulders bent with shame. "I _want _you. God, how I want you, I can never want anyone else the way I want you."

His face was anguished, the truth painful as it poured out of him, the dread coursing like poison through his veins as Bella stood, silent and shaking in front of him, as the magnitude of his lies settled about her shoulders.

"It was the only way I could think for you to let me go."

Her eyes widened at that, and then narrowed.

"_You bastard,"_ she hissed. _"You beautiful fucking bastard – " _and she choked as the words crowded into her throat.

"Bella," he pleaded, watching helplessly from the shadows as she spit and arched and swelled with rage, raw and magnificent in the sunlight. For a moment he thought she was going to strike him, to leap at him and savage him with her pain and fury, the intent clear in her wrathful expression. He would have welcomed it – he would hurt himself if he could – it was no less than he deserved.

Fixing him with her wide, dark eyes, it was as if Bella could see that. Anger, fear, and _pity?_ flitted across her face, and she drew a deep breath and stepped back against the railing, willing herself to be calm.

"No, Edward," she whispered, her voice eerily quiet. "You don't get to do that now. Not ever. Not anymore."

"Bella, _please_."

She held her hand up to stop him, to ward him off as he made to step out of the shadows towards her.

"I'm not the one who lied, Edward. It's only fair that I'm the one who gets to say 'please.'" The smile that twisted the corners of her mouth did not reach her eyes. "And I'm telling you that I can't do this. I can't live like this. So, _please,_ let me go."

And with one last look and a quick fluid leap, Bella vaulted herself over the low railing and dropped gracefully down to the ground below. Her pale skin blazed up white against the warm vegetation in the clearing as she bounded gracefully across it, a human meteor carrying Edward's heart away with her down the sloping hillside and out of his reach in the fair sunshine as she left him alone once more. He leaned softly back against the cool shingled wall, breathing deeply, desperate against false hope, his body thrilling oddly with the new certainty that while Bella had pleaded for him aloud to let her go, her brimming eyes had begged him:

"_Come after me."_

**The poem Edward and Bella read to each other is John Keats' "La Belle Dame Sans Merci." It's a beautiful poem from 1884, about a knight bewitched by a faerie, who in turn, steals his manhood when he sleeps with her. I thought it was fitting here - plus it's one of my favorites.**

**Alright. That being said, I hope you like my latest offering. As always, I welcome any and all criticism, good or bad. While I hate to troll for reviews, I must admit, they do keep me inspired. Let me know, my chickadees. I'm waiting.**


	14. Showdown at the Cullen Corral

**I am thankful for my friends, my entire family (even when we don't get along), and for punctuation marks. I'm also thankful for my faithful reviewers - you know who you are - for keeping me inspired and on my toes. I am also thankful for tequila and days off, although I hope the presence of the former of the two won't be so apparent here.**

It had been two weeks since they had returned from Anchorage. Two weeks of agonized waiting for the next meeting in Montana. Two weeks of shouted accusations, threats, tearless sobs. Two weeks of broken bones, furniture, useless and unused crockery. Two rage-filled weeks of tearing about the forest in British Columbia, destroying trees, and slaughtering animals in a furious, grief induced bloodlust.

All in all, it was a homecoming Edward was fairly certain that he deserved. Alice had been waiting for them at the airport, Jasper conspicuously absent - more so because they had rarely been separated in the five years since the . . . accident.

At first, Edward was unsure as to whether or not Alice's ability to see Bella had returned, and the sea shanty she was singing in her head seemed to confirm his suspicions. But, obscured as they were by the multiple parked cars in the garage outside the concourse, she had firmly disabused him of that notion by punching him squarely in the throat.

Edward dropped like a rock, gasping instinctually, if unnecessarily, as the last line of "Spanish Ladies" faded from his mind.

_I may have told Alice, _Carlisle intoned apologetically, as Edward wheezed though his battered airway.

"_You son of a bitch!"_ she hissed, kicking him in the thigh.

"Alice!" Carlisle pulled her away before she could do something untoward, like toss Edward bodily across the parking lot. Alice may have been small, but in her deadly fury, she was unparalleled.

"It's all right, Carlisle," Edward coughed hoarsely, sitting in an ungainly pile of arms and legs at their feet. "I deserved it."

Alice scoffed, jerking at the iron grip Carlisle had on her arm.

"The fires of Hell are too good for you, you piece of shit!" Her eyes blazed down at him, black with rage. If she could have spit on him she would have. "How could you _do_ such a thing?"

Edward looked at Alice through narrowed eyes, trying to swallow the fluid that clogged in his injured throat. He knew he deserved her reproach, but his fragile dignity made her reprimand no less easy to swallow.

"What would you rather I have done, Alice?" His whispered voice was bitter acid against his swollen vocal chords. "Keep her? _Change_ her?" His body shuddered with loathing at the thought of Bella screaming and writhing in agony as her soul, her humanity was stripped away from her by his own selfish desire. "We weren't _safe_ for her, Alice. She wouldn't _see _that. It was the only thing I knew that would keep her out of danger."

"What the _fuck_ do you know, Edward?" Alice's words throbbed with indignation. "How the fuck could you presume to know what was best?"

_Ever since I've known you,_ she hissed in his mind,_ you've always been so smug, so goddamned self-assured, so 'I'm Edward Cullen and I don't need anyone else.' _

"You've had your head so far up your own ass I'm surprised Bella couldn't taste it when she kissed you."

"_Alice!"_ Carlisle barked, sharp with disapproval. "That's enough."

Edward turned away, unable to bear the righteous fury that blazed out of Alice's all seeing eyes, squirming uncomfortably at the truth. She was right. For so many years he had been content to be alone – to the point where he was almost disdainful of the loving bonds of the couples around him. It weakened them, after all. _What would they do if something happened to one of them? _He had wondered then, in his complacent solitude. _How can they allow themselves to be so vulnerable? _He felt now the shame of his misbegotten presumption and wished that it would swallow him whole.

_What would I know? What would I know of that love and fidelity? _Edward thought, grim with the realization, with the newfound weight of his sheer idiocy. _Nothing. Nothing at all._

And then images of his family began to swim before him out of Alice's mind. Carlisle disappointed, grieving the pain of his first son. Esme watching despondently as her children scattered, as the family she had made drifted apart in silent mourning and unspoken accusation. Alice watching Jasper, who was watching Edward as he walked, zombie like through their lives, completely detached, and utterly wretched, longing for Bella; and seeing Jasper blaming himself, his slip up, for his brother's distress; and the two of them, husband and wife, helpless together, as the guilt crept in thick as poison between them; Jasper condemning himself for being unable to control himself, and Alice taking the blame for not being able to see his fateful leap at Edward's fragile human lover.

_How could you not see, Edward? How could you not know what this did to us? To Bella?_

Edward's head whipped up at that, as he finally saw in her eyes the last moments of Bella that Alice had seen. She held his gaze, ruthlessly showing him, willing him to see what she had seen, the pain, the loss, the hopelessness that consumed her fragile human frame after Edward had left her, lied to her; Images of Bella weeping, of Bella thin and despondent, of Bella fighting with her father. Alice looked down on him, her own face still and cold, until the finally all either of them could see was the image of Bella sobbing behind the wheel of a strange car as it flashed and flickered across their collective vision, and then winked out like a candle; and Alice began to cry.

She ripped herself out of Carlisle's grasp and threw herself onto Edward, pummeling him with her tiny, sharp fists, cursing him in her mind with every breath.

"Why, Edward? Why? I loved her – we all did. Why couldn't you let us be enough?" Her words leaked out in savage, tearing sobs, gasping at the pain five years in the making.

At first, Edward did not even bother trying to fight her off. He was all too aware that this punishment was far less than what he actually deserved. But Bella's parting words rang true in his mind: _"You don't get to do that now. Not ever. Not anymore," _and he knew he could no longer hide behind the convenient mask of remorse and ruthless self-judgment, thinking himself helpless, worthless, and unable to change. And the real sympathy he felt for his tiny sister's pain goaded him into action; and not too soon, as one of Alice's wayward blows caught him squarely in the eye, blurring his vision as though his eyes were full of unshed tears. He caught her fragile wrists easily, pulling them to his chest with one hand, wrapping his other arm firmly around her as she gave into the desperate sobs that shook her tiny body.

Rocking her awkwardly on the cold hard concrete floor of the parking garage, Edward couldn't help but spare a wry glance up at Carlisle, thinking back to a very similar, very recent night, when Carlisle had comforted him the same way. His foster father gave him a somewhat pained yet compassionate knowing smile, keeping an eye out all the while for other travelers returning to their vehicles, who would no doubt find it rather odd to see a young couple weeping and clinging to each other surrounded by a pile of luggage on the ground in between several parked cars as an older man looked on. Because Edward was unable to stem the tide of his own sorrow, his own folly, and he began to sob right along with Alice, burying his face in her spiky hair, clutching her to him as though she were a life raft in the surging waves of regret that threatened to drown him.

"_I'm sorry. I'm sorry,"_ he whispered over and over between gasping breaths. _"This was all my fault."_

Alice wailed into his coat, grieving for the sister that Edward had lost her, and the almost tangible aura of guilt that lingered between her and her husband, to the point where she and Jasper could no longer touch each other without feeling the foul taint of it on their skins; the horrible insidious thing that must have slipped into her mind, taking even the visions of Bella away from her. All those things Alice poured out helplessly into Edward's embrace, his strong grip her desperate absolution. At long last she spent herself, finally stilling infinitesimally in his arms, her body still shuddering with uneven breaths.

"It was all of our faults, Edward," she murmured aloud. "We treated Bella like she was just a toy. Like she was just here for our own amusement."

Carlisle looked down at them then, his gaze sharp and shrewd, and somewhat guilty.

"Alice is right, Edward," he said softly. "As much as you are to blame for lying, so are we all for not taking her feelings seriously, and for leaving her to fend for herself."

Edward grunted in halfhearted agreement, thumping his head in gentle affection on Alice's shoulder as she made to get up out of his lap.

"What do we do then?" he asked as Alice and Carlisle each grabbed one of his hands, dragging him to his feet. He brushed himself off unnecessarily, suddenly unwilling to meet their eyes.

Carlisle chuckled softly.

"First we go home and face the wolves," he said, clapping Edward on the shoulder and guiding him towards the car. _Esme is going to kill you._ Carlisle flashed Edward a small, apologetic smile as he winced. "And the rest, my dear boy, will be entirely up to you and Bella."

X X X X X

The scenery whipped by in a blur as Carlisle drove the Mercedes up the mountain highway. Edward sat slumped in the rear seat, his head leaning carelessly against the window with Alice curled up next to him, her head pillowed against his side. They had started the ride apart, Alice sitting somewhat stiffly in the front seat, gazing unseeing at the road ahead of her, while Edward chafed in the back seat, heading, as he was, to certain doom. She had let him stew for a bit, until finally, with a glance at Carlisle, and a muffled _"Fuck it," _she had wedged her tiny body between the two front seats and spilled herself gracefully onto the seat next to Edward. He gratefully wrapped an arm around her, and they rode for some time in comfortable silence, as Alice and Carlisle both kept their minds remarkably, and thoughtfully blank.

"Why do you think you can't see her anymore?" he asked, at last. Alice shifted against him.

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice small and uncertain, speaking aloud for Carlisle's benefit. "I couldn't even see her when you to were together at the conference." Edward tightened his grip on her shoulder, feeling the tremor in her voice echoed in her slight frame.

"It was so strange," Alice continued. "I could see the both of you so clearly, and I could hear you, and everyone around you. But the times when you said you were with Bella, or the time when you said you saw her, Carlisle, all I could see was a shadow." She bit her lip, confused and frightened all over again. "And when you two were speaking, all I could hear was your voice . . . nothing more . . . and the strangest thing . . . I couldn't even hear you say her name."

Edward looked at Carlisle's raised eyebrows as he glanced back at them in the rearview mirror. It was utterly confounding. He had never before seen Alice's ability so . . . compromised. Especially not when there was a human concerned.

"What do you think, Carlisle?"

The older man was silent for a moment, tapping a finger thoughtfully on the steering wheel. At last, he responded.

"I have never seen nor heard of anything like this. I cannot think that any of _us _would go to the trouble of blocking her – not when they could just as easily kill her." Edward stiffened and growled at the thought. Carlisle shot him an opaque glance.

"And Alice would have seen a vendetta against us, Bella or no." Alice nodded against Edward's chest, burrowing even closer to him in throes of her uncertainty. With that confirmation, Carlisle continued. "So I can only conclude that this anomaly has something to do with Bella herself. She has already proven herself to be immune to you, Edward, thus it only makes sense that she may have developed some resistance to you as well, Alice."

"But how can that be, Carlisle?" Edward's head was still against the window, pinned as he was by the tiny body of his sister wedged into his side, but his hair took his very real anxiety all in stride, rising in messy tendrils over his head, in a sort of nervous halo. "Bella is _human."_

But Carlisle had apparently anticipated his question.

"You need to think of this objectively, Edward. Bella is human, yes, and as such, any ability she has is subject to the limitations of her mortal body, but when Alice _could _see her, those visions were influenced by the same rules and restrictions that governed her ability to see those of our kind: chiefly, the decisions that she and all of us make."

"Are you saying that Bella _decided_ not to be seen?" Edward's voice was laced with skepticism. Alice on the other hand, brightened considerably.

"You may be right, Carlisle," she bounced a little into Edward's side, making him grimace. "It would make sense. Knowing my ability, she could guess how to get around it. And she _can_ already block you . . . that _has _to be it. But why wouldn't she want me to see . . . "

Edward answered, grimly, having heard directly from the source, seeing Bella in all her glorious fury before him once again, "I think you can guess that one, too, Alice."

They were silent the rest of the drive.

X X X X X

Esme was waiting at the door when they returned. She greeted Alice and Carlisle both with a warm embrace and a kiss, Alice on the cheek, and Carlisle on the mouth. Edward, she slapped; and then stood still before him, gazing at him with the same dark, intense eyes that Alice had, her breast heaving, her mouth pressed in a tight line, a far cry from the placid, nurturing, _mothering_ woman he knew her to be. This Esme was a lioness, fierce with rightful umbrage, and Edward cringed before her. It was far worse than any verbal dressing down she could have given him.

"That poor girl, Edward." The disappointment was plain in her tone. "And Jasper. Your poor brother, letting him take the blame – " she bit off her words then, and fixed him with an odd steely glance. "You _must _make this right. As my _son_, I demand you do to." She jabbed him in the chest with her pointed finger, emphasizing each word, her jaw clenched with determination.

Edward bowed his head, nodding, completely at her mercy. And was promptly bowled out the door by the collective force of Emmett and Jasper. Rosalie followed regally behind them, absently picking a nail, nodding to Carlisle, Alice and Esme as they stared wide eyed at the spectacle unfolding on Esme's carefully manicured front lawn. It seemed that Emmett and Jasper were trying to tear Edward apart, while simultaneously trying to pound his head into the ground. Neither operation was very successful, but the two older boys appeared to be enjoying themselves immensely.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Edward. Hissing and spitting with all the offended dignity of a wet cat, he writhed between them, giving as good as he got, although he knew he deserved the abuse.

"They've been waiting _at least_ five years to do that," said Rosalie in a bored tone. "I can't blame them. I've wanted to do it since I met the poor prick."

"_Rosalie!"_ Carlisle and Esme interjected at the same time. Alice snickered.

"And you, Alice!" Carlisle turned a reproachful eye on her. "I can't believe you two ladies' language today!" Alice kicked the dirt at her feet, not really sorry at all.

"It's Edward's fault," said Rosalie petulantly. "He brings out the worst in us."

Carlisle sighed, looking out at the rumbling carnage as it played out before them: Emmett had a very irritated Edward in a headlock, all the while laughing uproariously at Jasper, who was struggling against Edward's legs as they wrapped, squid-like around his torso.

"Apparently."

X X X X X

The rather violent reunion at the Cullen home seemed to set the tone for the next two weeks. Once the initial excruciating round of shouted accusations and even louder shouted apologies concluded, the time between Anchorage and the next scheduled meeting in Montana seemed to stretch out for an eternity to an anxious Edward. To the rest of the family, however, the brief interlude seemed to explode with a new vitality, knowing as they did now that their newest, most hopeful, albeit absent family member, had been tricked into her sudden defection, rather than having been a willing part of it.

Esme hummed with it, flitting about the lodge-style home with a maternal joy, gracing it, and everyone in it, even Edward, with her loving touch. Carlisle returned to his study, gleefully poring over a new round of research material he had acquired for the sabbatical he had taken from his latest hospital post. In short, Edward's confession had relieved them of the woeful blame they had held themselves accountable for – for knowingly letting a human girl infiltrate their family, and the responsibility they had assumed the seemingly inevitable disastrous result – for failing to protect their children from it.

Emmett and Jasper, on the other hand, still took turns taking pot shots at Edward, who grew testy and snappish, listening to the inevitable tenor of their thoughts, as well as the repeated pummelings he was subjected to, but secretly he was relieved that they had taken his duplicity with as much grace as they had, as a beating or two was much easier to deal with than their unspoken contempt. Alice no longer slunk away guiltily at the sight of him as she had done in the past, although she was conspicuously unhelpful in making Edward aware of his brothers' more nefarious plans, and the aura of accusatory grief no longer perfumed the air between her and her husband. In fact, it was quite the opposite – so much so, that the outpourings of brotherly affection Edward regularly endured seemed much more appealing to him than the sounds and thoughts of Jasper and Alice rekindling their relationship under the roof they all shared.

Rosalie was no help either, but he really had not expected her to be. While originally she had violently protested Bella's intrusion into their clandestine life, Rosalie was pragmatic enough to understand that the Edward who existed without her was completely insufferable, so much so that she was willing to let the mousy little chit of a girl back into their lives; and somewhere, deep down in the darker recesses of her dead heart, she really did feel badly for the two of them, caught as they were between their two worlds. But she would not suffer herself the indignity of bodily confrontation, so instead she would simply sit, a masterpiece of physical perfection on one of Esme's couches, smirking as the whole thing unfolded around her, reading a bright, splashy fashion magazine, or brush her honey blonde hair, while her siblings collectively beat the shit out of Edward both physically and mentally; chuckling gleefully whenever either Carlisle or Esme would finally get fed up and kick the whole rumpusing mess of them out of the house.

"I was right," she would say, smugly, gladly repeating it whenever she could. "He should have just bitten her and gotten it over with."

And Edward would glare balefully at his lovely sister, a vision of placid self-righteous beauty, and think to himself, that whatever was waiting for him in Montana, be it Bella's wrath or Dr. Reyerson making good on his threat to castrate him, well, it wouldn't be so bad, after all.

**How's that for some action, my lovely gravy boats. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I know I sure did. Reviews are better than turkey, but maybe not pumpkin pie cheesecake.**


	15. Acteon and Diana

**I am now the proud owner of a very large thesaurus. It sits by my bed, watching me sleep.**

By the time he and Carlisle were to leave for Montana, Edward had worked himself up into such a frenzy of anxious anticipation his very body seemed to crackle with energy. It vibrated from the core of his being into everything he touched, trembling beneath every word he spoke, shooting from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, until his very hair stood up like bolts from a Tesla coil. He was fretful, he was disturbed, he was absolutely intolerable.

His family loved it.

Because Edward had lied to them, lied about them in the grossest way possible, they knew he deserved to be anxious. Because even though he had apologized, even though every miserable moment of his existence before or after his reunion with Bella up in Anchorage was obvious testimony to his contrition, none of them, not even Carlisle or Esme, could forget the fact that he had used his very own prejudice against their kind as part of his deception, and because of that, he deserved to be afraid. Because it was well and away one thing for Edward to loath that aspect of himself, but for him to project it on his family, those he was loved by unconditionally - and who had hoped he would do the same – to suggest that any part of them was in any way hateful or worthy of disdain, well, that was rather too large a pill for any of the Cullens to swallow.

They were willing to forgive him, sure, for Edward was rather patently consumed by a rather epic amount of self loathing – even before he met Bella – so much so that he essentially existed in a perpetual state of personal recrimination and misguided self denial.

And because Edward demonstrated time and time again his capability for self-torture far beyond any punishment they saw fit to give him, the Cullens knew that leaving him to the devices of his own mind was almost sufficient reparation in itself.

Almost, but not quite.

Which was why Emmett was now sitting next to him in the car as he made the long trek across the seemingly interminable stretch of interstate between Washington and Montana. Edward could have flown from the airport in Vancouver with Carlisle, but he had been so worked up by the time their departure date was upon them that he opted to drive instead. His reasoning had been that he was no longer able to control his responses to any sort of environmental irritant – something that would no doubt be unavoidable crammed inside an aircraft – and, citing the good of humanity as his excuse, he declared everyone on that particular flight would be better off if he drove, and that he would meet Carlisle there.

Unfortunately, he had not anticipated that his choice method of travel would involve bringing along a passenger, least of all Emmett. But somehow, either by the grace of God or perhaps some fouler being of a lower order, Emmett had managed to elude Edward's ability so thoroughly that Edward barely had time to notice his brother was in the car before he finally realized what Emmett had planned.

Seeing the bulky form of his brother through the Volvo's tinted glass, Edward hissed out a curse and yanked the door open, gritting his teeth as the hinges squealed in protest.

"Emmett, for the love of Christ, get out of my car."

Emmett had looked up at him from where he was sitting in the front passenger seat of the Volvo, and batted his eyes at him innocently.

"I have to go Edward," he said feigning earnestness. "I just can't bear to be here when Rose realizes I'm just a big scary vampire and leaves me for someone with a pulse."

Edward looked at his larger, younger brother in exasperation, his face pinched, his nostrils flaring, the very roots of his hair quivering with mortified indignation. Once he had confessed his real reasons for leaving Bella – and the entire Cullen family had been adamant in extracting every minute detail from him – Emmett in particular had been merciless in his taunting of Edward's insecurities, unfounded as he knew many of them to be.

It was no more than he deserved, Edward knew, for in order for him to manage his way back into his family's good graces, barring brining Bella back to them, he had to prove himself worthy of their esteem. And especially to the younger members of the Cullen family, it meant that Edward had to suffer the consequences.

Emmett in particular felt it was his duty to ensure that Edward made his reparations, although his methods were a little suspect. Beyond the usual masculine posturing and the semi-good natured wrestling matches between Edward, Jasper and himself, wherein Edward inevitably found the odds stacked against him, Emmett also took it upon himself to administer some psychological torment as well.

Knowing full too well his brother's fragile state of mind in light of the current state of affairs, Emmett felt it was his brotherly duty to keep the rest of the family abreast of Edward's mental condition. So Emmett kept a diagram of Edward's hair on their unused refrigerator, as well as a few other strategic locations about the house, charting the daily progress of his brother's nervous mop's rather spectacular upward growth. His drawing also included an extremely unflattering representation of the rest of Edward's anatomy, as well as some fairly graphic commentary, and Edward learned the hard way that ripping the offending sketch down and tearing it into shreds simply gave Emmett more inspiration.

Which was why Edward simply glared at Emmett with a look of pure and unadulterated loathing as he jerked the aforementioned rumpled mass of hair further skyward, knowing that any protest would be useless, and any attempt to bodily remove Emmett from the Volvo's front seat would probably result in the complete destruction of his car.

Emmett smirked, knowing full well the cause of Edward's distress. But his eyes were serious when he spoke:

"You might have lost Bella to us, brother, but it may very well be all our jobs to get her back."

And Edward heaved an irritated sigh of defeat, realizing the truth in Emmett's words. He gave his aggrieved locks one more savage yank before shutting the passenger door and striding around to the other side of the car, slinging himself carelessly into the driver's seat, turning the ignition and jamming the gas, fishtailing out of the driveway, leaving a rooster tail of mud and gravel in his wake.

X X X X X

The miles flew by, slipping away like grains of time beneath the wheels of the Volvo. Edward had never gotten rid of it. Although the rest of his family was still prone to indulgence in terms of All Things Automotive, Edward found that not only did the car have sentimental value, but the idea of "Bigger, Better, Faster, More" no longer appealed to him the way it did in the days before he met Bella. Watching Rose trade in her M3 for an even flashier M6, and seeing the rainbow catalogue of cars that seemed to parade in and out of a revolving door on Alice's side of the garage, he couldn't help but be the tiniest bit ashamed, remembering the way Bella affectionately patted her rolling brick of a truck as she insisted that the newest and the best of the shiny toys his family held no real interest for her.

Maybe it was Bella's careless modesty, or her utter lack of pretension, or maybe it was the monumental waste, the snobbish "ostentation" that he had so casually spoken about with her all those years ago – maybe it were those things that crept into his mind when he looked at his car, still shiny and purring with careful attention, watching the odometer turn ever higher as the miles of time between him and Bella grew ever farther that drove him to keep it; and Edward learned to be glad that he had never had the desire to replace the car that represented the happiest days of his life with the automotive world's latest and best technology because it meant that maybe he wasn't that selfish of a creature after all.

The reality was Edward would drive a donkey cart if it meant he could be reunited with Bella. He would even try to like the donkey.

X X X X X

Driving from Seattle to Montana was an interesting geographical experience. Edward had made the drive a few times before, long ago, when he truly could not manage to be on a plane – wedged as it were, in an aluminum tube with a multitude of warm, tempting bodies, listening to the wet clicks of their beating hearts feeling all the while like a starving cat in a sardine can – but even those days seemed faint in his perfect memory, and Edward found himself marveling again at the way the woods gave way to mountains, and then to dry scrub country, and then inevitably back to forests, to mountains, and then wide open rolling hills that would eventually drop back into the Great Plains.

And suddenly, even within the confines of his car, Edward felt exposed.

_There really is nothing here,_ he realized._ Nothing at all. Only me._

For if there were a God above for Edward, a benevolent fate that would shine down on him, he had just as certainly thrown it away that day in the woods, when he let the clamoring fear finally overcome the desperate love he had for a beautiful, mortal girl, and cast it all away on the moldy forest floor.

And so in this, he was alone, for all Emmett sat quietly next to him, as determined as he to make things right, as the road stretched before him, drawing him ever closer to the uncertain outcome of the inevitable conclusion to mess that was all his own making.

The sky seemed to stretch on forever, a pale blue gray dome in the early morning hours. Everything seemed so crisp and clear – a stark contrast to the wet haze he had become familiar with, first in Washington, and then in British Columbia – and it was as though he could see every leaf and limb and blade of grass as they glimmered in the waning moonlight; frozen against his unblinking eyes as they whipped by at more than a hundred miles an hour.

He was driving through a dream; his past, his future, his fears, the very essence of himself all converging in the familiar confines of the Volvo, and he gripped the steering wheel as though it were the only key to the door of his uncertain destiny.

"What is she like now?" Emmett's voice was little more than a whisper, but it startled Edward all the same. His brother's mind had been conspicuously quiet for most of the drive.

He sighed, scrubbing a nervous hand across his face, as a kaleidoscope of Bellas swam through his mind.

"Different. The same," Edward responded at last, thinking of the way Bella had looked that night in Alaska, regal, like a queen, comfortable in her own skin; and yet still brown eyed and uncertain, begging him to go as the fear and adrenaline swirled around her like a cloud. "God, she was so beautiful."

Emmett smirked sadly, his face turned toward the window and the rushing hills, tapping one finger absently against the glass.

"She always was," Edward continued thoughtfully. "Even though she never believed me when I told her. But, when I saw her that night in Alaska, it was different: it was like she knew, but she didn't care, because all she could feel was anger."

And that was it, Edward realized. Beyond everything else, beyond the tears and the sadness, and even the anxiety he could almost touch, Bella was angry, furious at him, for lying to her, for tearing her life apart. Even though he couldn't read her mind, he could hear it in the tone of her voice, see it in her face, in the way the tension vibrated off of her body.

"That's what Carlisle told me, too," Emmett paused, remembering the guarded conversation he had had with the older man after he and Edward had returned from the conference in Anchorage. For Emmett had always had a tender place in his heart for Bella, knowing how unexpectedly the undesirable nature of her own mortality had essentially been thrown in her face, and knowing how much the rest of the Cullen family's defection must have hurt her because of it. Even though, in that regard, he knew he was just as guilty as the rest of them, "He said he actually almost didn't recognize her, even though she did smell the same . . . that she'd changed so much, but really, not at all. And that he'd never seen anyone so angry in his whole life." Emmett's voice may have been soft, but the accusation lingered heavily in the air between them.

Edward sighed, nodding in defeat.

"She was. She is. She has every right to be."

Emmett hissed in quiet sympathy, and it wasn't for his brother.

"I'm sure she was overjoyed to see you, then."

And Edward snorted, a dry, sad sort of sound, but his voice was surprisingly, almost appreciatively mirthful.

"She broke her hand on my face when I, um, tried to explain myself to her."

Emmett chuckled softly, "That's my girl."

They continued on for several miles in silence.

"Thank you," Edward said at last.

Emmett quirked an eyebrow at him.

"For what?" he asked.

"For this," Edward shrugged slightly. "For not taking me seriously. For defending Bella when you broke my jaw. For making me see what an insufferable shit I've been." He looked over at his larger brother then, his face open, and oddly compelling, and his voice was low and rough when he spoke, _"For wanting to bring her back, too."_

X X X X X

They stopped to hunt just outside of Homestead. Something had shifted after their conversation in the car, and after they taken their game, so to speak, the two young men ran lightly, almost joyfully into the dry forestland above the Continental Divide. There was something so freeing, so _relieving _in the dry mountain air that was so different compared to the stuffy imprisoned silence of the mossy woods in the Pacific Northwest that Edward and Emmett couldn't help but feel its woodsy openness seep into their immortal bones.

It buoyed them up, as they raced laughing and tripping, shoving each other in playful abandon across the rocky hillside. Maybe it _was_ relief that they felt, freed as they were from the tainted air of revelation that perfumed the air around them in the Volvo, but neither Edward nor Emmett gave it much thought as the ground slipped by beneath them, reveling in the brotherly camaraderie that bloomed once again between them. They had not horsed around together after a hunt in over five years.

And the happiness of that realization, the hope of it swam through their senses distracting them almost completely from their surroundings. So much so that they barely noticed the deer when they came stumbling through into a clearing, fizzing with mirth, Emmett sporting a torn shirt and Edward with his hair full of dried pine needles, barley saw its antlered form as its startled head jerked around towards them, barely saw the figure slipping out of the woods behind it, until the wind shifted wand blew the pine and perfumed air into their scarcely believing senses.

_Bella._

And Edward and Emmett jerked to a halt, captivated by the sight of the slim young woman in the bright orange vest as she stepped lightly forward, oblivious to them – completely focused on the startled deer – a beautiful look of intense concentration on her face as she whipped the rifle she was carrying up to her shoulder sighting and firing in one smooth motion, taking the small buck cleanly through the neck, right at the base of its skull, smiling slightly to herself as the beast dropped without a sound.

"God Almighty_,"_ whispered Emmett.

"_I know,"_ Edward's voice was deep, hypnotized by the sight of her, the sight of _Bella_ striding out across the field, beautifully at ease, a modern Diana incarnate before him. As if to confirm his vision, a great hulking beast of a dog slunk out of the woods behind her, its mouth dropped open in a wicked smile as it came to heel at the side of its apparent mistress.

He must have whispered the name aloud aloud, for Emmett's voice broke suddenly into his mind:

_If she's Diana, then you're her mother fucking Acteon, and that wolf beast over there is straight up going to try and eat you. _He was only half joking.

Edward snorted quietly, all his senses tingling with ironic desire, frightfully still next to Emmett's quiet bulk, uncertain what to do until the traitor breeze shifted again, curling around them, blowing their predatory scent back towards the enchanted vision before them, and the aforementioned beast caught it in an instant, and went completely and utterly still at its mistress' side, its head lowered, its yellow eyes looking balefully at them.

"_Fuck,"_ the two brothers cursed together, trapped in the dog's silent stare as Bella looked, first down at her dog, frozen and glaring as it was, every hair in its ruff standing erect, and then slowly, carefully, following its rigid point, swiveling her deep brown disbelieving eyes up at them.

And they didn't need super attenuated hearing to hear the same curse as it slipped from Bella's own lips, as she took in the sight of them, transfixed before her in the suddenly too bright air at the edge of a clearing, deep within the forest on the rugged mountain hillside.

_Fuck, indeed._

**For any of you who are wondering, I'm roughly paraphrasing the story of Acteon and the Goddess Diana. It's one of my favorite bits of mythology wherein the hunter Acteon accidentally discovers Diana bathing (this is Roman mythology, in Greek mythology, she is called Artemis), and, being the virgin goddess of the hunt that she is, she turns him into a stag as punishment for seeing her nakedness, and his own hunting dogs kill him. And while my Bella isn't one to go bathing out in the woods in Montana, she most certainly does find Edward's accidental discovery of her in her own element a woeful transgression, indeed.**

**I thought that little bit of mythology would be a neat little metaphor to sneak in here, all things considered. **

**As always, I welcome any and all thoughts and criticism. The more feedback I get, the better I write, and, sad but true, the quicker this story falls out onto the page. What can I say, you all are very inspiring.**

**And I'd like to take this last little moment to thank all of you who HAVE taken the time to review - THANK YOU! I'm so glad you're enjoying this.**

**And my tender little self esteem thanks you, too.**


	16. Never Cry Wolf

**Oh my goodness. First off, I would like to say THANK YOU, to all of you lovely folks who have been lighting up my mailbox - and my heart - with your wonderful feedback. I'm so glad you're enjoying the fruits of my procrastination. I must say I'm enjoying it, too. And secondly, I am SORRY this is posting so late! I really truly meant to get it up earlier, but who knew finals in a Master's program could be so gawd awful time consuming.**

**All right. Enough whining from me. I hope y'all enjoy this.**

At first Bella saw nothing, her senses only aware of the buck, the soft padding of Jake's feet as he tread stealthily through the woods behind her, the sudden crystal stillness of the air as she swiftly drew the rifle up to her shoulder and fired, barely pausing to hold her breath before she pulled the trigger.

It was a good, clean shot, and the small buck went down with barely a twitch.

Striding swiftly across the clearing, the intense focus of the hunt still upon her, Bella was hardly aware, hardly prepared for the moment when Jake went suddenly and preternaturally still by her side. She heard his jaw click shut as every hair on his ruff vibrated with uncharacteristic tension. Bella looked, following the direction of Jake's woeful glare toward the opposite side of the clearing.

And then she was trembling with anxiety as well.

"_Fuck," _she hissed, her fingers fisting in Jake's thick fur, searching for the orange nylon harness he was wearing, while the images of her dog, her one true companion, flying towards the beautiful death that waited for him on the other side of the field flashed through her mind.

_No, no, no, please God, no, _she pleaded, willing with all her might for Jake to be still, the slippery straps of his harness sliding slickly through her damp grasp, knowing there was no way her meager strength could hold him back if he bolted. The moment stretched out forever, wide as the gulf between them, while the two apparitions from her past lingered, still and uncertain, glistening in the traitor sunlight that leaked through the clouds in the still mountain morning.

And Jake stood, rooted to the ground, a deep low growl rumbling from his massive chest as he glared the unexpected threat to his mistress.

_Mine._

It vibrated from the black tips of Jake's ears, to the tip of his tail, held straight behind him in defiance to the superior predatory strength that he surely recognized embodied in the impossible perfection of the two men that stared back at him with identical yellow eyes. _Mine,_ his trembling muzzle seemed to say to them. _Mine,_ said his fearful ruff, every hair erect. _Mine, mine, mine._ And it was true. Bella _was_ Jake's – his person, his mistress, the center of his simple canine universe; and he would break every tooth on their cold hard skin, every bone in his body in their impossible grasp, pour out his blood for her in their ravening jaws until his heart no longer beat, and even in death, he would protect her still.

And Bella's fearful heart shivered and broke again under the weight of his terrible devotion.

Willing her self to be calm, Bella gingerly set her rifle down on the dry grass, and dug her now free hand deep into the thick fur that blanketed Jake's shoulders.

"_Be still,"_ she said tersely, her tongue thick, her mouth dry, as she gave her giant dog a remonstrative shake, doing her best to act as if she thought he was merely behaving badly in front of an unexpected guest. If a dog could roll its eyes, Jake most assuredly would have. He huffed resignedly at Bella when she shook him a second time, letting his stiff tail drop marginally as he grudgingly acquiesced to her silent entreaty, leaning heavily into her side, a giant hairy wall against the morning's unwelcome intruders.

Bella let out a breath she didn't know that she had been holding as she felt Jake's body relax ever so slightly against hers. Her skin suddenly clammy, the nylon webbing of Jake's harness sticky in her desperate grip, as a slow anxious trickle of sweat seeped down between her shoulder blades. It was only then that she could feel the sharp, dull ache of her barely healed broken finger as her nervous hand clenched fiercely in Jake's rough coat.

The threat of Jake's immediate defensive explosion passed, Bella allowed herself to look once more at the two men across from her, frozen still in wary anticipation, their bodies as immobile and unchanging as their immortality. Swiftly she took in Edward's disheveled state, his rumpled, stained shirt, his hair wild and thick with pine needles, his face a blur of conflicting emotions. And Emmett. Bella felt her heart clench as she looked at him, big and broad next to Edward's lanky frame, his usually open pleasant face clouded, troubled and unsure; nothing like the giant, laughing man of her memories. She could see her name on both their lips, but it was Emmett's voice she heard.

"Bella?" He sounded confused, wistful and sad, and childlike all at once. It was an invocation, and a question, and she felt again the emptiness of the past five years slip away, as though he had summoned her ghost – the Bella that he had known all that time ago – and Bella shivered as the unseen specter of her girlish innocence, the Bella Swan she had been in Forks, slipped into the void between them.

"What are you doing here?" She kept her voice low, looking at Emmett, not daring to glance at Edward again, lest her body betray her words and fling her unheeding against his own, hearing his final words echoing in her head,_ "I want you."_

They trembled still in her ears, sliding across her anxious skin, settling deep and warm in the pit of her belly, begging her still to turn her eyes to the anxious figure standing next to Emmett's solid bulk.

But her focus quickly turned back to Jake, as his growling renewed again at the sound of Emmett's voice.

"We were coming to meet Carlisle," his golden eyes were earnest and compelling. "We had stopped . . ." Emmett was hesitant to say "hunt" under the circumstances, not wanting to antagonize Bella any further, and he shifted uncomfortably, squinting at her in the daylight. "No one expected – no one meant to bother you." He stepped out into the clearing, his large hands spread in silent supplication, glimmering oddly against the muted forestland behind him. And Jake snapped at the motion, lunging forward with a dreadful snarl, yanking Bella's arms painfully as she struggled to hold him, her boot heels skittering across the dry ground, desperately seeking purchase.

"Jake, NO!" she cried, her breath sobbing in her throat, as Emmett retreated back, pressing Edward behind him; and Jake paused, hearing Bella's command, but ready to give chase should either of them dare to come close to her.

Bella gripped tightly to Jake, his hairy body vibrating with protective outrage. His dread in the face of what his instincts told him were two such superior predators could not endure even the softest entreaty in Emmett's voice, and Jake quivered with indecision, feeling the fierce will of his mistress, his Bella, coursing through the insistent fingers clenched in his fur, warring with the need to keep her safe, keep her away from the strange men that were not men whose deadly scent so poisoned the air around them.

_He'll kill himself,_ Bella realized desperately, and that desperation made her strong – stronger than the urge to go to Edward, to weep, to hit Emmett and silence his dreadful, sad voice that was so different from the booming masculine one she had grown so fond of, to give in to her restless anger and tell the both of them to go to hell – and because she loved Jake, because she would not sacrifice the simple, pure love that his canine heart held for her, Bella did the only thing she knew.

With a superhuman jerk, she summoned all of the strength in her slight body, and with one hand gripping his harness, and the other buried deep in Jake's ruff, she lifted his massive body almost completely off the ground. Limp with shock, Jake dangled like a puppy in her iron grasp as she shook him, once, twice, and then pushed him down on the ground, prone, with one arm braced over his deep chest, and the other hand – her good hand – clutching, jaw like, in the soft vulnerable skin of his throat, telling him with the language of the wolves that she was his leader, his god, that she knew best.

"_Jake, be still,"_ she almost begged, struggling to keep her voice firm, to keep the inevitable disaster at bay. And Jake, to his credit, at long last finally submitted, letting out an unhappy whine, and going soft and still as the dead deer next to him. His eyes were still fixed on Edward and Emmett's pale forms across the clearing, but they were now resigned, as though his sentence was death, and the two men were his executioners. If Bella asked it of him, he would go to it.

"I'm sorry," Bella whispered into Jake's defeated ears. "I didn't know what else to do." Gingerly, she relinquished the death grip she had on her dog's windpipe, using her other hand to prop herself up on the arch of his ribs, finding herself suddenly unable to stand.

"Edward," she said softly, knowing he would hear, knowing that she dared not speak any louder without bursting into tears. Keeping her eyes on Jake, still lying flat on the ground, offering no resistance, Bella gingerly fished through one of the pockets in her orange hunting vest and pulled out the keys to Dr. Reyerson's truck. She held them out in his direction, and Edward blinked, mesmerized as they dangled from her shaking fingers, glinting jewel like in the sunlight, like a promise, like a peace offering, and slowly, oh so slowly, he stepped out into the open ground.

Bella kept her gaze focused on the gentle rise and fall of Jake's side as Edward quietly closed the distance between them.

"There's a logging road just through the trees behind me," she said in a conversational tone into Jake's chest, not daring to look up, as the one man she had begged to stay away came ever closer at her own request. "About two miles down is my truck – I need you to get it for me." A lone tear fell onto Jake's fur, shivering apart against the wiry strands. "Please."

And then Edward was beside her, she could see him out of the corner of her eye, as she stared fiercely in to Jakes fur, his shoes dusty, his jeans stained with dirt and sap; her heart pounded in her ears, the air around her electric with his presence, and she felt his fingers, cool and reassuring as they gently pried the keys from her nerveless grasp, lingering just a fraction of a second too long.

It was the first time he had touched her in five years. She felt like heaven under his fingertips.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, and he was gone from the clearing. For a fleeting moment, Bella felt a cool tingling sensation just behind her ear that may have been his touch. Or it might have been just the wind, lifting the anxious strands of her hair that had escaped from the confines of her thick braid, but Bella leaned down anyway, wrapping her arms around Jake's neck as he awaited patiently for whatever fate she decided for him.

"He really _is_ sorry." Emmett was suddenly crouched on the other side of the fallen deer, taking advantage of his brother's absence, and Jake's forced reticence, to speak. "Bella, we all are."

She looked up at him, then, her eyes streaming. Emmett grimaced sadly, plucking up a bit of dry grass and twisting it awkwardly in his hands.

"Why did you go?" she whispered. "Why did you leave me? I loved you. _All _of you." _Even Rosalie._

Emmett sighed. There really was no good explanation for this, for her. Looking at Bella now, he realized that. He had known, when it happened, that Edward had lied, but he had never been aware to the extent of Bella's belief in his deception, and knowing Edward's Herculean capability for stubbornness, had hoped instead along with his idiot brother that she would someday move on from them, that the memory of her grief would fade, that someday she might be happy and in love again. But seeing her, grown into womanhood, wearing it with an unconscious grace, and seeing that beauty marred, diminished with longing and plaintive desire, shamed him; and Emmett cursed himself along with his brother for the enormity of that mistake.

"We should have fought for you Bella," his voice thick with regret. "Never think you weren't worth it. But we were all so used to being wrapped up in our own little world, with our "powers" and all our immortal bullshit, that nobody knew what to do with you. Especially after Edward came back to the house that night." Emmett looked at Bella, his eyes begging her to believe him. "And no one wanted to question Edward." He snorted mirthlessly. "He can be such a bitch."

Bella choked out a watery laugh. _That_ at least, was the truth.

She gently ran her hand through the soft fur beneath Jake's jaw, uncertain if she could bear it, the reality of her world, the one she had worked so hard to create, as it was suddenly overturned by the reckless chance that had thrown them unwittingly back together again.

"Edward told me he lied," she said at last, watching her fingers as they disappeared in Jake's coat. He had never told her exactly what it was that he had said to his family that had convinced them to go away, to abandon her. Of course, she had never given him the chance.

Emmett grunted, weighing his next words carefully.

"He said you didn't want him anymore. That you realized after . . . Jasper, that the whole thing was a bad idea . . . that you wanted us to go away, so you could be normal again." He sighed unhappily. It was a damnable business either way.

"I thought he was lying," and Emmett held his hands up as Bella's eyes flashed to his.

"Bella, I didn't know what to _do._ I couldn't make him go back to you . . . and Jasper and Alice . . . I thought if we left you alone you would at least get the chance to heal." His face was open and honest, and utterly guileless, and Bella found she could not help but believe him. All the same . . .

"You should have fought for me, Emmett," her voice was small and sad as she looked back at the emptiness of the past five years. Sure, she loved Jake, and just about worshipped Dr. Reyerson in all his acerbic glory, but the Cullens had been her family, and no matter how deeply she felt the betrayal of their departure, she missed them still. "I would have let you."

Emmett's broad shoulders flinched, and his eyes were dark and sad when he could finally meet hers.

"I know. And I'm sorry."

They were silent for a moment then as the ghosts of their regrets walked between them in the still of the morning with only the sound of Jake's breathing as the air rumbled in his deep chest to remind them of the passage of time.

"What about Alice?" Bella asked quietly at last. For after Edward, Alice's defection had been the hardest to bear; and Bella had always wondered, angrily, sorrowfully, what had driven her all-seeing almost sister away.

If it were possible, Emmett looked even more sorrowful than before.

"When Edward lied, he pretty much blamed Jasper for the whole thing. Not directly, but saying it the way he did . . . and Jasper already blamed himself for . . . losing it. And Alice thought it was all her fault. She knew she should have listened to you, but what was worse is that she thinks she should have seen it happen – that she could have stopped it." Emmett frowned at the thought, the memory of his slight little sister, bowed under the tremendous weight of that responsibility, and the toxic guilt that had slipped into her marriage like poison, until she and her husband could barely touch without each of them suppressing a horrifying shudder of self loathing.

"Oh, _Alice,"_ whispered Bella, seeing the same thing all too clearly. And Jasper, poor Jasper who had never stood a chance, unprepared as he had been for the sudden temptation that she had accidentally offered him. And suddenly she could see them all, Carlisle and Esme agonizing over their children's pain; Alice and Jasper riven apart by their self assumed guilt; Emmett lost and sad; Rosalie haughty and aloof, closed off from everyone; and Edward, poor and pathetic, utterly desolate; and finally Bella could see the anger that she wore around herself like a cloak for the flimsy, fallible thing that it was, a shield from the truth, born of her own self doubt, and in that moment, she began to realize how truly alike she and Edward actually were.

They were both of them so sure of their own unworthiness, that they had been blinded enough to allow them to drive each other away. For Edward had so convinced himself that Bella would reject him for being the monster he thought himself to be that he allowed himself to abandon her; and the Bella that he had left had been so pitifully certain of her supposed inadequacies that she allowed herself to believe his most bald faced lies – lies that she could now see through. And Bella knew then that that had been what Dr. Reyerson had been trying to make her understand that night in the hallway of the Alaskan lodge: that it was their own misguided and unfortunate fears that come between them that day in the woods, that had either of them believed themselves to be worthy of such love, the past five years may well have never happened.

_What a mess,_ she thought regretfully._ What a horrible, fucked up mess._

And the real weight of it struck her then.

"Oh, God, Emmett. Poor Jasper." Her eyes widened at the thought. "And Edward - that son of a bitch! Letting him take the blame. How could Edward do that to him?"

Jake's ears pricked at the venom in her tone. Usually that voice was reserved for unruly bits of equipment, or for the times when he made dinner out of her unsuspecting lingerie, or the one time he had let himself into the lab via the unopened screen door. But Bella's hands were still soft and soothing in his coat, and he breathed a canine sigh of relief, knowing that the terrible angry voice of his person was not directed at him, no matter how shamefully submissive his position was on the ground in the open clearing.

Emmett rocked back on his haunches as he watched the shock and anger fight with the overwhelming sadness on Bella's face, and felt something strange and full blooming in his chest as he saw all those emotions fade, to be replaced with a look of fierce determination.

"That _son of a bitch! _Using me –" she spluttered with outrage. "I'm going to kill him."

Emmett's laughter rang out free and clear in the still mountain air.

"Oh, Bella," he said, his face practically splitting with his smile, gazing at her flustered, angry expression. "I've _missed_ you."

It was at that precise moment that the son of a bitch in question returned to the clearing, unsuspecting of the fate that awaited him.

X X X X X

After securing a reluctant Jake in the cab of Dr. Reyerson's truck, Bella returned to the clearing to retrieve her buck. Guessing it would be better to err on the side of caution and clean the carcass without them being present, no matter how civilized Emmett and Edward professed themselves to be, she refused all offers of help and shouldered the body of the dead deer herself.

It was a small buck, after all, and in all probability weighed less than Jake, and so she brushed off Edward's anxious attempt not to hover, and did her best to ignore Emmett's teasing smirk as she walked stiffly back to the truck with a dead deer draped over her shoulders.

The two men stood awkwardly next to the rusty bed of the old Toyota as Bella secured her somewhat gruesome cargo, keeping a wary eye on Jake as she did so. He knew better than to damage anything of Dr. Reyerson's, but like Bella, Jake had had a rough morning, and she would not have been surprised if he had suddenly thrown himself through the back window of the truck cab given the opportunity.

And it was so very nearly such an opportunity that Emmett seemed almost happy to provide when he absentmindedly stuck his finger down in the bed of the truck, and swiped up a bit of blood that had pooled around the dead deer's nose. Jake's ready growl seemed almost to match her own.

"Emmett Cullen, get the fuck away from my dinner."

Emmett looked up guiltily, pulling his finger out of his mouth with an audible "pop," looking nothing more like a little boy caught by his mother, licking the frosting off a cake. Except he was a vampire, and his piece of cake was a cold, dead deer.

Suddenly it was all too much for Bella's overloaded senses: Emmett and Edward and Jake, and the bizarre contradiction of Emmett's innocent gesture right before her eyes; and Bella began to laugh, long and hard, the peals of it ringing bell-like through the dry pine trees, until her sides ached, and tears streamed down her face. Emmett chuckled at the sound while Edward looked at her tossed back head, the elegant curve of her neck, and the sudden openness of her expression with unrestrained desire. She was magnificent, and he would have given anything to please her so.

As her laughter subsided, and the reality of the situation returned, Bella still felt oddly relieved, but all the same, she was tired, bone tired after the panic and the fear, and the gut wrenching revelation of the morning, and she wanted nothing more that to retreat to the couch at the lab with a nice cold beer, and rest her aching arms and back and push the whole horrible mess of the morning out of her mind.

At least for one day.

Looking grimly over the truck bed at Edward's wary, guarded expression, his wild hair quivering like a multitude of anxious antennae, no doubt hearing the repeat of their conversation in Emmett's mind, Bella felt the sharpening of her resolve straighten her sore back and lift her aching shoulders.

_There would be a reckoning._

She would not have the weight of her humanity burden Jasper's unfortunate, and undeserved guilt any longer than she could help.

It seemed almost as if Edward could read her mind in that one moment, for his eyes finally met hers over the body of her deer, and he held impossibly still as she tightened the last of the ratchet straps and stalked over to stand in front of him, never breaking their gaze. When she stopped, he could feel the heat radiating off her body she was so close.

He wanted nothing more than to reach out and grab her, pull her close and run off into the hills with her, but the expression on Bella's face let him know on no uncertain terms that that sort of attention would not be welcome. Yet Edward couldn't help himself, not with her so close, not with the sudden, visceral longing for her burning through his empty veins, and he reached out slowly, almost hypnotized, and traced the gentle line of her cheekbone with his fingertips.

Bella's eyes fluttered closed at the contact, her pale skin flaming at his touch, and when she at last opened her eyes, they were wide and shining, and utterly fathomless, and Edward felt himself falling in their depths and drowning in them.

They would have stood there forever, caught in that moment of unspoken desire and regret, until the world and the truck and the deer and all the multiple mistakes that had brought them to that moment faded away, but they were interrupted, the spell broken as Emmett cleared his throat unnecessarily.

"Not that we have to worry about him growing old and dying before we get there or anything but I still think Carlisle would appreciate it if we were on time picking him up at the airport."

He smirked at Edward's barely concealed eye roll.

Edward wanted nothing more than to tell his brother and Carlisle both to go to hell, that he might never get this chance to see Bella like this again, and her next words thrilled him with equal parts hope and dread.

"Don't keep Carlisle waiting." Her eyes were locked on his. "I will find you at the university tomorrow." She leaned closer to him, so close that the swell of her breasts almost touched his chest, and Edward swallowed thickly. Her breath was hot in his ear, trailing against his neck in a sensual caress, making every cell, every hair on his body stand erect as she whispered to him, "We need to talk."

And with that she backed away from him, opening the door to the pickup and slinging herself into the cab, her eyes still holding his, dark and determined.

"This isn't over, Edward."

The truck door slammed, and the motor roared to life, and Bella drove away from them without so much as a backward glance.

But she didn't need to.

Until the old four by four bounced out of sight, it was Jake's yellow eyes that held theirs, fierce and protective as he glared balefully at them out of the back window of the truck cab, staring them down as Edward and Emmett stood in the falling dust, the departing image of Bella burned into their brains.

No, it wasn't over.

Not in the least.

**I'd like to offer another shout out to my lovely reviewers - you know who you are. This story wouldn't be what it is without you. Let me know if this was worth the wait.**

**Oh, heck with it. I'm just lonely and looking for someone to talk to. Please feed me.**


	17. Of Revelations, and Resolutions

**I'd like to preface this will a well deserved shout out to JMaire and bookishqua for so kindly pimping my story over on the Twilighted forums- I've made so many new and wonderful friends! Also to smellyia for the lovely review on The Lazy and Discerning Ficster Blog - I'm beyond tickled, and I wave my hair (and Christmas socks) in humble gratitude. I promise I will put the links up as soon as I get over my fear of all things html and technology. And most of all, to all of you wonderful people who have taken the time to comment on my story and my writing. You have been an inspiring, and instrumental part of my story craft, and I thank you from the bottom of my chocolate dipped heart. Now, on to the show!**

"How are you doing that?" Edward was beyond exasperated, glaring at Emmett from where he lay flopped across the indifferently decorative spread in their hotel suite.

Emmett looked up from the monstrous pile of legal paperwork he was going over for the Cullens' university endowment and smirked. Having caught wind of the last of Bella and Emmett's conversation, Edward was consumed by equal parts jealousy and curiosity, desperate to know what Emmett had told her, and even more so to know what her reaction had been, and so far, Emmett had not been forthcoming with the information audibly or otherwise. Instead, he had been successfully keeping his mind blank for over an hour, and it was driving Edward, who was already in a state of perpetual agitation, slowly and steadily mad.

"It's easy, really," Emmett replied, grinning like the Cheshire cat, his impossibly white teeth glinting in the warm light from the bedside lamp. "I just try to think about you and Bella having sex –" Emmett neatly caught the pillow that came rocketing at him from Edward's side of the room before it could slam into the wall behind him in a very un-pillow-like fashion, and proceeded, undaunted, "but since I don't exactly have a frame of reference –" and then it was Edward who was flying across the room towards Emmett, who was by now laughing outright at the mortified frenzy gripping his overly sensitive and sexually inexperienced, younger older brother.

He grappled Edward easily in his strong arms, catching him not quite so neatly as the feathery missile Edward had hurled at him, but quickly enough so that they didn't go through the wall into the adjoining room. It was not often that Emmett had the advantage over Edward, he was lighter and quicker, and his mind reading capabilities gave him the ultimate edge in physical confrontations, but now, in the evening hours, after the unexpected meeting with the object of his unrequited – and unconsummated – love, Edward was handicapped by the very same emotions that he had once professed himself to be above. To wit, he was distracted, and Emmett, being Emmett, would press his advantage in the way that the brother in him knew best: through merciless teasing; and Edward, red headed and impetuous, and brimming with unchecked desire and frustration, rose easily to the bait.

And that was how Carlisle found them when he returned moments later from his first meeting at the university: Emmett almost doubled over in breathless laughter, while he somehow managed to fend off the impossible profusion of arms and fists, and finally, teeth, that represented the last stand of Edward's wounded dignity before it slunk off into the still and broad darkness of the Montana night. Carlisle unwittingly sped on said retreat as he grabbed Edward by the collar, ignoring the faint squeak of rending fabric and Edward's equally futile snarl of protest as he dragged his first son off of his gleeful antagonist, and gave him a good, fatherly shake.

"I'd like to leave this hotel standing, if you please," he said, eyeing both his sons disapprovingly. _Is it really so hard for you young people to act civilized around each other?_

Edward grimaced uncomfortably, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. Their skin was much harder, yes, but still easily damaged by their own kind, and Emmett had managed to split his lip, so to speak, as he had thrown up his large hands to ward off Edwards impassioned, though ill thought out attack. It stung, and even more so under Carlisle's reproachful gaze. After years of living under the same roof together, he was well accustomed to being the unlucky subject of Emmett's bawdy jests, but in light of recent events, Edward's tolerance for such jokes at his expense was running at an all time low.

"Sorry, Carlisle," Emmett was still snickering as he straightened up the paperwork that had been scattered during his scuffle with Edward, marveling all the while that neither of them had broken any furniture.

Edward stood next to Carlisle, shoulders hunched, the epitome of wounded pride and abject humiliation. Carlisle had overheard Emmett's rather incendiary jab at Edward's lack of sexual experience, and looking at his foster son, dispirited and dejected though he rightly was, Carlisle took pity on him all the same, releasing the iron grip he had on Edward's collar and giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"You will be coming with me tomorrow, yes?"

Edward nodded, shrugging his rumpled clothing back into place. Anything would be better than the dreadful anticipation that gripped him, or Emmett's merciless, and painfully accurate teasing, even if he had to assist Bella's mentor in doing the honors on the removal of certain bits of his anatomy. He shuddered at the thought. Well, almost anything.

Carlisle smiled, no doubt reading the myriad of expressions that swam across Edward's face, and clapped him perfunctorily on the back.

"Good. Now, I want the both of you to take your quarrel outside. I would much rather finish this paperwork in peace."

X X X X X

And that was how Edward and Emmett found themselves once again running through the cold, clear mountain air in the hills high above the college town. They followed a winding deer track, glowing palely in the half-light of the cold-rimmed moon, tracing it upwards through the dry pines into yet another open clearing. Only this time there was no Diana, no fierce wolfish guardian, no fallen stag to remind them of who she was, and what they were, but instead just the empty forestland, and the arid stillness of the nighttime sky.

They stopped there, neither one of them willing to break the silence, nor to tear apart the quiet air with the ferocity of yet another hunt, and seemingly of one mind, they both lay themselves down on the cool packed earth, sprawling side by side in the darkness, looking ever upward while the great dome of the sky wheeled slowly overhead.

It was a clear night, peaceful and cold, and while the forest around them breathed in hushed watchfulness, further on in the distance they could hear the shrill yapping of coyotes, and the long lonely cry of a solitary wolf.

Finally, Emmett spoke.

"I'm sorry, Edward," his low voice humming through the air, in the ground. "I know you're all wound up about this – hell you should be." He grimaced, choosing his next words carefully. "It's just . . . Bella doesn't need a coward."

Edward turned his face to his brother's, his eyes dark and wide, and Emmett held up a hand to stem the inevitable protest that seemed to swell on his lips.

"I'm not saying you should go all caveman on her and drag her off into the hills or anything . . ." _Persephone she is not_ " . . . but you can't hide behind all of those bullshit gentlemanly 'good intentions' anymore." He held Edward's gaze, then, his own eyes earnest and not a little accusatory. "And you have to admit, your intentions weren't all that good in the first place." _This whole mess happened because you were afraid._

The air between them was charged and still, the images of grief, of longing, and the almost visible miasma of guilt that poisoned the very walls of the Cullen home hanging specter-like above them in the all seeing darkness. Emmett closed his eyes with a sigh, the last of his memories stark and clear, and painfully bizarre; it was Alice, her head pillowed in Rosalie's lap as she wept brokenly, her narrow shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs, while Rosalie stroked her short black hair gently, her beautiful face sad, yet fiercely maternal. And suddenly the Rose of Emmett's recollection lifted her face, her golden eyes blazing into Edward's own as her perfect red lips parted, the voices of all of the Cullens issuing forth in unison with the same injunction:

"_You must bring her back, Edward. That is the only way you can come home."_

X X X X X

Dr. Reyerson's office at the university in no way fit the man sitting behind the battered oak desk. Everything in it seemed to be either a front of pseudo-dignified professionalism or an afterthought. There were stacks of papers jumbled on the file cabinets behind him, and a multitude of books and pamphlets fought a haphazardly ill pitched battle for dominance with an old computer – frightfully reminiscent of Bella's – that was wedged onto a smaller, and even older desk hunched awkwardly under the room's only window.

The walls were yellowed with age and indifference, and they had in all likelihood not been painted since Dr. Reyerson had taken up his position, sometime in the early nineteen eighties guessing by the age of some of the articles pinned to the faded white enamel. There were a scattering of old topographical maps tacked up as well, marked with a rainbow of colored pushpins and seemingly random numbers, along with a few pictures of the doctor himself, in various stages of graying hair, some by himself, and others with a varying population of what must have been his earlier interns.

The only clean space in the room was the desk size calendar planner that Dr. Reyerson was now resting his blunt hands on. Its carefully delineated days and dates were almost notoriously blank, except for one hastily scrawled note on the Friday following the Thanksgiving holiday. Edward spared it a furtive glance as his eyes quickly traced the rest of his surroundings, and was suitably shocked to find it was Bella's handwriting.

_Buy your intern a Christmas present, you old bastard!_ the note read. Edward snorted, and looked up, directly into Dr. Reyerson's knowing, sardonic eye. The older man stared pointedly at him for a moment, before turning his attention back to Carlisle, engaging him politely, if somewhat stiffly, in superficial technical banter. It was only then, as the two older men shifted their attentions towards each other that Edward noticed the latest picture of Dr. Reyerson. The photo was unframed, and tacked up next to a large black and white print of the snow covered Grand Tetons, which, oddly enough, had a cut-out picture of Bella's enormous dog glued to one of the uppermost peaks. Those little details Edward saw in an instant, but they might well have not existed as he was held enthralled, stunned by the sight of the woman in the picture before him.

It was Bella, a paler, leaner version of the girl he had seen the day before, the warm golden light of the forest behind her almost shining _through_ her, as though she were somehow transparent, as though she were a ghost. She was smiling, crouched next to the lanky body of a sedated wolf, one hand deep in its layered ruff, the other wrapped around a sinister looking double barreled shotgun as she leaned on it, its butt end braced in the hard ground, but the smile did not reach her eyes. Instead they burned in their sockets above her hollowed cheeks, haunted, dark and removed, as if she were not really there, as if Dr. Reyerson's hand on her shoulder were the only thing keeping her willowy, almost wraithlike form from wafting away in the cool mountain breeze.

The picture was dated almost two years previous with a handwritten note tagged at the bottom: _"Isabella Swan, Her First Wolf, Glacier, Montana."_

"She's a hell of a woman, that Isabella Swan," Dr. Reyerson's voice was dry, but not malicious, and Edward started and shook his head, almost dazed, and wondered how long the room had been silent, waiting for him to speak. He turned in askance to Carlisle, who shrugged almost imperceptibly, a soft smile on his open, handsome face.

_I was practically shouting at you._

Edward sighed ruefully, scrubbing a nervous hand through his already rather dramatic hair. _A hell of a woman. Yes she was. _For her picture alone was powerful enough to hold him in her thrall, to silence the inescapable thoughts, to make him forget who he was, what he was, and to remember that in the brief time he knew her, Bella Swan was enough. Enough to lift him from the blood and the mire, the viciousness of the damned existence in which he lived. Enough to make him come to life again in her arms as she gave him her trust, her love. It would have been enough – _she _would have been enough, if Edward had ever been possessed of the courage to believe it.

"Yes," he replied softly. "Yes she is."

Emmett's words from the night before thundered in the silence,

"_Bella doesn't need a coward."_

No, she didn't.

No, indeed.

For he could see now that everything Bella had become, the vibrant huntress he had seen in the woods, the alluring young woman he had discovered in Alaska, had been dearly bought. That she had fought for every last bit of her transformation from the shy, awkward girl he had fallen in love with, sacrificing her softness, her compliance for the passion and self-determination that burned behind her eyes.

It was defiance, and it wrapped around her like a second skin, scorching through her body like the angry words she had hurled at him in Alaska, perfuming the air around her with the essence of her vitality, the strength of her perseverance. He could see it, even then, in that picture that was almost two years old, the change, the inherent challenge in Bella's expression that demanded worthiness – _his_ worthiness – for her forgiveness, her tenderness.

No, Bella did not need a coward.

And looking into Dr. Reyerson's peculiar gray eyes Edward did not have to be a reader of minds to see the affirmation of his realization mirrored in their silver depths, and that same challenge looking back at him. There was no passion or possession in Dr. Reyerson's gaze, but rather a look of silent contemplation, of calculation, as if he were conducting his own assessment of Edward's capability of deserving Bella's esteem.

Edward smiled wryly, sadly, at the older man, painfully aware of the inadvertent irony of the situation: that he, a gifted immortal was standing for an impromptu inspection in front of an aged, and aging human, and letting himself be judged, finally and for once, as a human himself.

He was suddenly very aware of the cut of his dress slacks, and the thread count of his shirt, and he found himself fighting against the very telling urge to pull on his collar and clear his throat.

It thrilled him with an odd kind of fear, watching Dr. Reyerson sit back in his chair, feeling the intense scrutiny of his gaze, his unreadable perception raking over him, leaving him naked and exposed; and suddenly, so very _alive_.

_Let me be worthy, _Edward found himself pleading_. Let me be enough._

He didn't know if it were Dr. Reyerson or himself, or even God, that he was addressing, but instead let the silent entreaty pour out of him, flooding his empty veins with the strength of his sudden resolution: that he would find his redemption, that should he ever again have the privilege to take Bella in his arms as a lover, to hold her as even a friend, that he would find a way to be worthy of her, of the strength and the sheer beauty of her femininity as it glowed from the cradle of her newly minted self.

Bella didn't need a coward, and Edward knew he could never again hide behind the façade of the arrogant and aloof young man he had once been, the one who betrayed her heart and left her broken and alone, presuming in his fearful pride that he knew best; and the newness, the rawness of that feeling thrilled him, as every fiber in his perfect being vibrated with the sheer magnitude of his resolve.

And perhaps Dr. Reyerson actually saw the truth of it in his expression, as he looked Edward right in the face, for he did not flinch from Edward's gaze, but rather nodded slightly at him as he held the door for them – in blessing or benediction, Edward could not be sure – before he walked with them down the long empty hallway to the boardroom where they would be meeting the university's board of trustees.

X X X X X

Bella was waiting for them in the parking lot when the meeting concluded. She was leaning casually against the Volvo, dressed much the same as she had been the day before, watching them as they strode out from the doorway in the falling dusk. Her eyes caught them, dark and bright, a lone wisp of her hair blowing freely in the slight breeze, beckoning them forth in a silent siren call.

The light shone behind her, making her face shift and turn in the soft orange glow of the setting sun, burnishing her hair with a fiery red halo, the crown of her new vibrancy. She straightened when she saw them, shifting upright, thrusting her hands fiercely into her pockets, standing before them with her legs slightly spread, her head up, her very expression alight with defiant certainty. Bella let her eyes flicker over Edward, and then Carlisle, before letting her gaze settle on Dr. Reyerson, lifting her chin determinedly and holding his eyes with a brief intensity, until the older man clicked his teeth together and nodded shortly.

Bella flashed him a quick, tight grin, and then her eyes zeroed in once again on Edward. He could feel the heat of her stare boring all the way into his backbone, fierce and daring, and something _leapt? _in his chest.

"Carlisle," she said, still looking at Edward. "I'm taking your son."

Taking Carlisle's stunned silence for an affirmative, Bella jerked her head at Edward, motioning him in her direction, ignoring Dr. Reyerson's soft snort as Edward swallowed thickly.

"Come with me." Her tone booked no opposition.

And always a gentleman, Edward did not have to be asked twice.

X X X X X

He followed behind Bella, marveling at the confident set of her shoulders, and the soft swing of her hips as she strode silently before him. Her boot heels clicked in smooth cadence against the paved sidewalk, a far cry from the shuffling cautious steps that Edward had grown accustomed to in the brief time that he had known her those many years ago. She even smelled different, he was surprised to note as he trailed in her wake; it was not a drastic change, but it seemed that the heady perfume that he was so desperately accustomed to was now laced with something different: the sharp tang of hops and beer, and the bitter undertone of black coffee. It was dark and woodsy, deep and wild, and it resonated strangely in tune with the new aura of femininity that swirled around her woman's body.

Her scent called to him, drawing him like a moth to a flame, and he found himself transfixed by the new subtlety of the tiniest of her details. Bella was wearing a dark canvas mechanic's jacket that snagged the hair of her thick braid as it hung down her back loosing strands of it against the subtle arch of her backbone, waving against the material at him like seaweed, and Edward was so busy warring with the desire to lift that heavy mass of hair off her neck and taste the pale flesh that was taunting him from beneath her collar that he almost didn't see where they were going until Bella stopped abruptly in front of him.

They had come to a halt in the student parking lot behind what Dr. Reyerson had told him was the main science building as Bella rummaged through her pockets for her keys. It was then that Edward noticed what they were standing in front of, and he inadvertently grunted in surprise.

"What happened to the pickup?"

"Hmm? Oh," Bella paused as she yanked the keys out of her pocket – they had snagged on something, the odd jumble of detritus she had crammed in there – and then turned, giving him an opaque look. "That was Dr. Reyerson's truck. There's no way in hell I was putting a dead deer in _this._"

_I know THAT,_ Edward wanted to say, but he bit back the retort as he stared at the monster in front of him, taking in the rakish smooth lines, and the aggressive crouch of the oversize rear tires, the flat grey paint of the Mustang as it was parked before them, all wicked power and deadly delight, so very foreign to him in light of the girl he had once known; the one who had been afraid of speed, and the irony of it all, as she unlocked the car that, even motionless, screamed reckless acceleration and absolute power. This was not the girl he had once known, and he was flustered once again, with uncertainty.

"I just didn't expect –"

"Expect _what, _Edward?" Bella glared at him, bristling with irritation. "There's a lot about me that you wouldn't be able to _expect_ anymore."

She yanked open the driver door and flung herself angrily behind the wheel, reaching over in one smooth motion and unlocking the passenger door.

"_Get in."_ Her eyes bored into his, daring him to say no, and Edward was filled with the odd certainty that she would be able to pick him up bodily and force him into the car if he refused. It was a strangely arousing prospect.

His legs seemed to move of their own volition, and Edward found himself slipping, trancelike around to the other side of the car, opening the door with numb fingers, and sliding gingerly into the seat next to Bella as she jammed the key furiously into the ignition, the throaty, rumbling roar of the engine effectively drowning out any apology he could have made. He had barely enough time to shut the door as Bella slammed the car in gear, hitting the gas and dumping the clutch in one fluid, practiced motion, tearing out of the parking lot, the rear tires squealing with a deafening howl as they bit into the pavement, leaving a smoky cloud of burnt rubber in their wake.

X X X X X

Dr. Reyerson stood next to Carlisle, watching bemusedly as Bella turned on her heel and strode away, with Edward following after, looking lost and a little desperate at her sudden and unexpected command. His hair seemed of the same mind as the odds and ends of it lifted in the soft breeze, some of it waving eagerly after her, the rest of it standing up rigid like an exclamation point, silently waving out the protest: _I don't know what's going on!_

As their forms retreated around the corner of the science building, Dr. Reyerson turned to the younger man standing next to him with a wry smile on his face.

"I don't envy that boy," he said, shaking his head.

Carlisle turned his golden gaze on the man standing next to him, and flashed him a brilliant and knowing smile.

"No," he agreed with a dry chuckle, his eyes crinkling. "No, not in the least."

And Dr. Reyerson smiled back at him, genuinely this time, thinking, _I could really get to like this son of a bitch._

It was just as they were standing there, sharing a moment of bizarrely fatherly, friendly camaraderie, when the quiet air of the settling evening was shattered by the ungodly roar of a big block Ford motor, and Bella's primer gray Mustang ripped out of the student parking lot and onto the main road, spitting out rubber and gravel like an angry, mechanized dragon, howling furiously with every precise shift of its transmission, until it raced out of sight, leaving them in its proverbial dust.

Both men stood in silence for a moment, as the thunder of the Mustang faded into the distance, into the falling night.

"Ah. Well then," Dr. Reyerson shook his head ruefully. "I hope you're not too attached to the boy." He shot a dark look at Carlisle. "I think she may kill him."

Carlisle let out a very undignified snort, and then laughed in earnest, long and hard, until Dr. Reyerson found himself laughing along with him.

"She may at that," he admitted at last, still chuckling. "But it will not be because he did nothing to deserve it."

_Amen to that, _the evening air seemed to say as the two men parted ways, awash with the silent speculation they both shared, still and anxious for the dreaded conflict, the fearful, uncertain resolution, now five years in the making.

_Amen. _

_Hallelujah._

**Holy open ending there, Batman! Now we're onto something. **

**Reviews are as rewarding petting Edward's nervous hair - the fun never stops!**

**For all of my kind readers, I wish you all a happy and safe holiday season. I don't know about you all, but I plan to spend mine barricaded behind a mountain of food, typing furiously away on the next chapter (and maybe fantasizing a bit about muscle cars and multidirectional red hairdo's). YAY!**


	18. Crouching Bella, Hidden Edward

**My New Years Resolution is to throw myself on the altar of gratitude for all of my peeps on the Lazy Yet Discerning Ficster Blog and Twilighted forum. Your kindness has raised my self esteem to the stratosphere while simultaneously blowing up my inbox. You reviewers have rocked my Christmas socks off!**

**Oh, and maybe I'll put an effort into that grad program I'm trying to forget about. Apparently that kind of stuff doesn't go away even when you're having fun playing on the internets.**

The Mustang tore down the road, Bella hammering through the gears, and gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles shone white through the skin, her face a war of expressions – fury and sadness mingled with grief, and bitter disappointment. Edward sat in the passenger seat, leaning back against the door and watching her warily, as if she might explode at any moment, the speedometer all the while inching swiftly past the hundred mile an hour mark.

Bella's rapid, and rather wet breathing was barely audible over the thunderous cacophony of the engine, and the roar of the exhaust. The salt tang of her unshed tears mingled with the inevitable odor of fuel, grease, and mustiness that was inherent in a forty year old car. But looking at her, the grim set of her jaw, and the hard thin line of her lips, Edward could see that she was nothing more than absolutely livid.

"What did you tell them about me?" When she finally spoke, her voice throbbed with fury and regret. "What did you tell your family to make them go?"

Bella turned the full force of her brimming, angry eyes upon his, and Edward suddenly felt so very small and childish, sitting next to this raw and rough goddess who was so wondrously alive; and he was all of him, ashamed.

Edward's eyes slid away from hers, tracing over the hard lines of the dashboard, and the darkening sky as the scenery whipped by them. He sighed. Here in this car, with Bella next to him, he would be unearthing the worst parts of himself, perhaps ensuring that the rupture between them would remain forever so; and the prospect of it made the courageous resolve that he had felt blooming inside him in Dr. Reyerson's office seem to whither and die in his breast.

But he knew Bella deserved better than that, and, scrubbing a hand through his already wild hair, Edward opened his mouth and sealed his fate.

"That night, after I left you, I went back to the house, and I told them that you didn't want to be with me anymore," he was speaking to the dash, unwilling to meet her eyes, knowing exactly what he would see there, "that the incident with Jasper made you finally realized how dangerous we really were, and that you wanted us go, and leave you in peace . . . so you could have a normal life without us."

His voice was flat and expressionless, as if he were reading a recipe or a grocery list, and not telling the lover he so painfully jilted how he had managed to tear apart his own family as well. It wouldn't do to tell her that those words were poison to him now – that they burned in his gut and in his throat with the fire of bitterness and untold regret.

"It was so easy to lie," said Edward sourly. "I was already . . . upset . . . and with Alice and Jasper gone . . . I could tell the rest anything I wanted." He laughed shortly, mirthlessly. "And since I already thought of our kind as monsters, it was no trouble to convince them you felt the same."

"Oh, _Edward,_" Bella groaned, her voice thick with disgust.

He turned to her then, his eyes raking over her profile as she stared unblinking at the road ahead of them, searching for what he did not know. It was too late to stop now.

"But that's not all," Edward said lowly, casting in his lot with the damned, "that's not even the worst of it. For five long years I watched my family fall apart, and I could have stopped it all. If I'd only told them I had lied about you . . . but I didn't. I just watched Alice and Jasper start to hate each other . . . I saw Carlisle and Esme grieve as their children grew to despise themselves . . . as we all started to fall away. And I knew all along the reason why and I did nothing to stop it."

He heard the silent creak as Bella's hands tightened around the steering wheel, and saw the muscles swell in her cheek as she clenched her jaw.

"You fucking _coward,_" she ground out. _"You goddamned piece of shit. _How dare you? How dare you use_ me_ as an excuse? How could you do that to poor Jasper when you knew it was just a mistake?"

"Mistake? Mistake?" Edward laughed, an ugly sound. "Jasper is a fucking murderer, Bella. He's killed a hundred times over what I ever could. And he didn't care. Women and children, husbands and wives. He played with them, tortured them." Edward looked at her, the perfect innocence of his features belying the horrific words coming out of his mouth. "Did you know that fear makes human blood taste the sweetest? Even sweeter than your blood would be to me, Bella . . . unless I made you beg for your life . . . and if Jasper had gotten a hold of you that night, he would have drained you until you were dust before any of us could have stopped him."

Bella looked as though she wanted to rip the steering wheel off and hit him with it.

"Jasper gave up that lifestyle, Edward, and so did you. What happened on my birthday was an accident, a goddamned accident, and you know it!" She punched the dashboard viciously. "Did you just conveniently miss the part where Jasper changed his whole life to live with your family? Or when he helped you keep me from someone who actually _wanted_ to kill me? Why was it so easy –" Bella sputtered to a halt, her heart breaking for the young man who had tried so hard, and failed, and for his wife, the almost sister she had loved all the same, as they both suffered under the weight of their brother's duplicity. "I forgave him the moment it happened, Edward. Why couldn't you?"

And suddenly, looking over at Edward, as he hunched in his seat refusing to meet her eyes, and still just as eager to condemn his brother as himself, Bella smelled a rat. She glared at him suspiciously.

"Just what the fuck were you running from that gave you the right to treat your family so badly?"

"You," Edward whispered. "I was running from you."

Bella hit the breaks so fast he was jerked forward in the seat, his body flying towards the dash and Edward had to brace himself against the doorframe, as the weight and velocity of the car sent them sliding onto the soft shoulder; the back end of the Mustang whipping around as they spun through the gravel and dry grass; and all the while, Bella kept her hands on the wheel, her face grim death, piloting the car with stunning precision as they slid backwards to a halt, cloaked in their own dust.

"What the fuck, Edward? What the fuck –" Bella turned on him, her eyes boring into his. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Edward wiped his dry palms uncomfortably down his slacks, not daring to break eye contact, lest Bella in her fury would leap upon him and somehow rend him to pieces. It was done, now. He had ripped the proverbial band aid off his dirty little secret, pulled the unraveling thread on the metaphorical sweater, loosed the plug on the inevitable floodgates of his destiny, and offering her an explanation was now the least of his troubles.

"Bella, I – I've never loved anyone before. Before you there was no one. No one. You were the first girl I ever kissed, and the only woman I have ever . . . wanted." If it were possible, Edward would have been blushing long ago. As it was, his face still felt as though it would burst into flames, if not from his own mortification then from the intensity of the horrified angry glare that Bella fixed him with. "Every thing I felt with you, every thing I _did_ was all as new and foreign to me as it would have been before I died.

The idling of the motor rumbled through the floorboards, vibrating up through their legs, humming in the air around them, but in the space between them and the lingering miasma of Edward's confession, the silence roared.

His eyes were golden, but desperate in their sadness as they looked deeply, helplessly into hers, now dark and flat, almost black with rage.

"I was no different –" her voice throbbed, low and longing, her chest heaving as the multitude waves of emotion rolled through her.

"I know – Bella, I _know._" He wanted to grab her into his arms and tell her, whisper it all into her ear while she soothed the poisoned wound that poured out of his breast. But he couldn't. That Bella was lost to him, gone from his life, from the face of the earth; and the blazing creature before him could offer no comfort in the face of his self imposed grief. "But I walked this earth alone almost a hundred years before I met you. And all that time I thought it was enough, I was enough. That all the thoughts and experiences of myself and those around me were all the emotional sustenance that I needed."

Edward shook his head ruefully. This had never been the way he had expected to broach the topic of his virginity to anyone, let alone the woman he both loved and lusted after with every fiber of his being.

"All those years I lived as an ascetic, untroubled by desires of the flesh. And then . . . I met you."

Bella scoffed, knowing just what sort of a meeting that had been. A lone, angry tear slid down her cheek, trembling unnoticed on the tip of her jaw.

"And I scared you, and you ran away. That's just beautiful, Edward. Way to fuck up the family over me."

And Edward did grab her then, gripping her upper arms, earnestly, desperately, pulling her close, as if he could will her to listen, to cleanse the toxic disdain from her voice.

"_Bella, listen to me," _he hissed. "Of course I was afraid. I never felt anything like I did when I met you . . . I _wanted_ you so badly – not just your blood, but you . . . _all _of you." Edward was breathing in agonized half sobs, choking on her nearness, and the stricken look of almost revulsion in her eyes. "But I was – I am a monster. I knew you could never want me, love me the same way. I was afraid to give myself to you because I knew you would eventually see me for what I really am. And I knew it would destroy me." He hung his head, then, drooping in shame and defeat as Bella remained frozen in his grasp. "I couldn't live in a world knowing that you hated me," he whispered at last, his empty chest aching, throbbing, exploding with bitter anguish, knowing that he, in his fearful stupidity, had at last made his worst nightmare come true.

How could she not but hate him now?

As if she could hear his thoughts, Bella flung up her hands with an angry jerk, breaking his nerveless grasp and shoving him back against his seat.

"Well that's just great, Edward. That's _fucking_ great. You're telling me that this –" she waved to them, the car, the years of grief that yawned between them, and the roadside where they sat idling in the falling dark in the middle of nowhere, "all this is because _you were afraid I would_ _leave you?"_ Bella's voice rose to a slightly hysterical pitch, as if she could not believe the words were actually coming out of her mouth. "You destroyed your family – you wasted five years of my life because you were afraid? Afraid to love me? To _fuck_ me?" Her hands balled involuntarily into fists as she began to laugh, a horrible dry, hollow and mirthless sound. "You coward," she rasped, and then straightened at him and screamed, _"You fucking COWARD!"_

Edward flinched as her voice rang sharp and raw in the enclosed space.

"_You never even tried, Edward!_ If you loved me so much, why didn't you fight for me? For us?" Bella looked at him with contempt, "You couldn't even fight for yourself, could you?"

She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes dark with passion, and then she began to laugh again, softly this time, looking sorrowfully at the empty road before them, back into the past. "All those years," she whispered. "All those years because you were too goddamned chickenshit to take the chance. What a fucking waste. You threw everything we had away because you were afraid I was just in it for the glamour and a quick fuck . . . " Bella shook her head, another diamond tear sliding down her cheek, as the bitter acid of woe seeped into her voice, her heart. "I loved you . . . I loved your family, but you were too blinded by your own prejudice to believe it – and apparently nobody can be happy according to your beliefs, since you were willing to blame your own family you selfish son of a –"

And suddenly Edward couldn't bear it anymore, deserved though it was, and as Bella's lips parted again to flog him with her venomous disdain, he grabbed her once more by the arms, rougher this time, and silenced her quickly, stopping her mouth with his own. Bella stiffened immediately at the contact, her whole body roaring to life with fiery delight at his touch, while her wounded psyche screamed at her, and she ripped her face away, and slapped him as hard as she could. But Edward didn't slacken his hold; and instead gripped her ever tighter as they breathed heavily in the stunned silence, their faces inches apart, their bodies speaking the words that their voices could not. The still air crackled between them as they stared into each others' eyes, and then Bella fisted her hands in Edward's shirt and lunged, crushing her lips to his, dragging him halfway into her seat as she pulled him roughly against her.

It was not a lovers' kiss. Nor was it like any of those that they had shared in their youthful innocence. There was no passion or love or gentleness in it. It was angry and raw, and bruising and sad, full of unspoken fear and lust, and they punished each other with the emptiness of the regret and the longing that lingered like poison in both their hearts.

_If only you had fought for me_, whispered Bella's body.

_If only you had believed in yourself_, Edward's replied.

He kissed her hard, bruising her lips and forcing her mouth, bending her body under his, gripping her tightly by the hip, drawing her to him, demanding her submission. And she twisted her hands in his shirt, pulling it tight, until the buttons began to pop under the strain; tasting him on her tongue, bitter and sweet and better than she had ever remembered, biting his lips to ease her pain, arching up to him until her breasts flattened against his chest, and her teeth knocked against his.

Edward flinched and gasped, as the reality, the danger slipped back in, and Bella growled in frustration, deep and low in her throat as he froze, and bringing up both her feet, she planted them squarely in his chest and kicked him back to his side of the car.

"Goddamn you," she hissed, rubbing her coat sleeve across her mouth. Edward was horrified to see that her lip was bleeding from where the pressure of his own mouth had forced it against her teeth – bleeding and he couldn't remember even tasting it, so distracted with the heat and the softness of her, the aching familiarity of her body suddenly his to touch again after all those years, that he had not even noticed. "Goddamn you for being afraid. Goddamn you for throwing me away."

Her words were cutting, full of disdain, and _something else? _and Edward found himself angry, furious that still she would not listen, that she was still so deliberately reckless.

"Bella I _hurt_ you," he snapped. "I could kill you before you even knew what I was doing. Look at you – I touch you once and you're bleeding and you don't even think –"

"_Think,_ Edward? Think?" Bella licked her bleeding lip, grimacing at the taste. "Did you ever stop to _think _that that was the problem? That you _think _too much?"

She sat up straight, looking directly at him, her lips red and swollen, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes dilated, wide and deep. "I think I'm well acquainted with danger, Edward."

Her voice was low, almost hypnotic, and Edward gawked helplessly as she grabbed the hem of her shirt, lifting it up to reveal the smooth skin of her stomach, up over the soft arch of her ribs, stopping just below the full curves of her breasts. His embarrassment lasted only for a moment as he realized what she was showing him: showing up black in the half light of the dropping night, from the top of her ribs, starting right below her left breast and trailing parallel in a diagonal slash past her navel were three deep angry furrowed scars, long since healed, but painful and deadly in their intent.

"That was from one of the wolves," Bella said dreamily, looking down at her mangled flesh. "I got the dosage wrong on my darts – the wolf was bigger than I had thought, and the tranqs wore off too quick. He would have gotten me by the throat if Jake hadn't been there." She paused, lost in the memory, the tearing pain as the wolf's toenails ripped through the soft flesh of her belly, the fierce snarl of her own dog as he leapt between them echoing in her mind. "Seventy-eight stitches: thirty-four in the middle and twenty-some odd each for the other two." Bella pulled her shirt back down, smoothing the fabric absently with the flat of her hand. "I could die every day, Edward. Every time I get behind the wheel, every time I go out in the field, hell, every time I get out of bed, I could die, and there's nothing you or anyone else can do to stop that." Bella looked at him, her mouth twisted in a wry, unwilling smile. "If it hadn't been Jasper, it would have been someone, something else – and it _will be._ As long as my heart beats and my lungs breathe, I flirt with a mortal death, and I don't care. I _can't_ care –"

"Goddamnit, Bella that's just _it._ I love you more than my own life, and you tell me you don't care whether you live or die. How can you say you ever loved me if you don't even care about yourself?" Edward looked at her pointedly, his eyes bleak with the loneliness of despair.

And there it was – the elephant in the room. That last regrettable part of Bella's past that she had tried so valiantly to leave behind. The shy awkward girl who never believed herself good enough, or pretty enough, or _anything_ enough to keep the heart of one such as Edward Cullen. Even now, as he sat before her, baring the darkest, ugliest parts of his immortal sou,l she could remember how the crushing self-doubt had swelled up and choked her, sucked the life and the fight out of her that day he left her in the woods. And Bella knew that Edward was partly right, that for all that he had lied, both to her and to his own family, her belief that she was not worthy of him was partly to blame for it all, for letting him go; and the burning and self righteous anger that straightened her back and lifted her jaw, that dragged her out of bed still draped in the chastity of her unworthiness, flickered and dimmed in the light that realization.

_If only you had believed in yourself . . ._

_That's what Dr. Reyerson meant, _Bella realized. _If I had only had the courage . . . _

"You're right," she whispered at last.

It was too much for Edward, shame or no shame, guilt or no guilt, to hear this confession after so long, and he buried his head in his hands, breathing deep anguished breaths; and looking at his bent and broken form, so foreign from the dashing and aloof young man she had almost worshipped, Bella finally felt a stab of pity for him – for his fears, for his misbegotten mistakes, seeing him finally, for the first time, as human and frail and fearful as herself.

Feeling an overwhelming surge of tenderness, she stretched out the hand she had slapped him with, and gently grasped his hunched shoulder.

"You're right about me . . . _then_," she amended. "But, Edward, I can't live my life looking backwards anymore." Bella leaned forward, letting her hand slip down until it lay open, palm up on his knee, showing him the savage red line that tore through her tender white flesh. "And that's the point. I used to think that after you left my life had stopped, that I was just a ghost. But it didn't, and I wasn't." She stilled a shuddering breath as one of his pale white hands reached down and traced the newly healed mark that severed her life and heart lines. "Everything I am I had to fight for, everything I've done I've had to do with the knowledge that I will some day inevitably die, and that I might as well try to do something with myself in the meantime. I couldn't – I can't _live_ if I worry about death." Bella watched for a moment as one trembling finger traced back and forth over the line in her palm. "Nor can you, Edward. Yours or mine."

She let her open fingers contract around his, and Edward finally looked up, his expression an odd mix of hope and confusion at the gentleness of her touch.

"I am as much to blame for this as you," Bella whispered. "We both ended it. You with your hating yourself for what you are, and me for believing that I didn't deserve you anyway."

They sat for long a moment in the rumbling stillness, as the gentle cloak of absolution fell about them, slow as the falling night, while the soft pale glow of the moon rising over the rolling mountains bathed their faces in its unearthly light. Bella let her head loll back against the seat, feeling the suddenly peaceful throb of her heart as the truth of her revelation pulsed in her veins.

Edward's eyes traced the soft arch in her throat, lined blue and gold in the mingled light of the moon, and the muted glow of the dash. She was viscerally beautiful, yet somehow ethereal, as she placed her feet on either side of the precipice, the living bridge between their two worlds, and the burning heat of her fingers as they curled around his own was the anchor in the maelstrom, pulling him free from the inevitable tide his self imposed damnation. He had never loved her more – and for a moment Edward was sure he could feel his dead heart beating.

At long last, Bella broke the blessed silence, laughing softly, "I remember watching Romeo and Juliet with you - and you made fun of them." Bella squeezed his fingers before drawing her hand away. "The joke's on us, Edward. We crossed ourselves, and we did a pretty damn good job while we were at it."

Edward snorted sadly at the irony. "At least nobody died."

Bella looked at him for a moment, chuckling darkly, before she finally agreed. "No, Edward Cullen, nobody died. Not just yet anyway." With that she shifted the car into gear, and swung them once again onto the darkened and empty road, leaving Edward to wonder at the double meaning.

X X X X X

"Dare I ask where we are going?" Edward was doing his inhuman best not to squirm.

They had been driving for several hours, the moon chasing behind them as the road let them north and slowly into the west. Bella had not spoken since their impromptu confessional, and while Edward had originally enjoyed the peaceful silence of her muted thoughts, eventually the uncertainty of their destination began to make him chafe.

Knowing full well the source of his discomfort, Bella turned to him and smirked; but after a moment, her face fell.

"What happened between you and me, Edward, that was both of our faults. I can accept that, and maybe I can forgive you – maybe – but I can't forget what you did – what you did in my name. I have some work to do in the wildlife corridor up in Banff, and then you and I . . . " their eyes locked, Bella's bright and determined, and Edward's dark and somber with the certainty of his fate, and she breathed out a heavy sigh. "You and I are going home."

They both knew whose home she meant.

"It's time to make this right."

**Once again, I thank you all for reading, and reviewing. I wish you all a safe and Happy New Year, and I am taking the fact that I am actually able to post this before Midnight Pacific Time as a sign that my horrible affliction with the disease of procrastination is finally cured.**

**Of course I do welcome an alternate diagnosis. Send me a note, yeah?**


	19. Dashboard Confessional

**Sigh. Sorry this has taken so long. I just started my student teaching at the beginning of the month, when I was about halfway through with this chapter. Needless to say, I got a little sidetracked. I'm working in a woefully underfunded public high school where the majority of the students have neither stable homes, nor families. As such, the classes generally tend to be little more than controlled chaos trying to function within the strictures of curriculum and standardized testing that is neither capable nor qualified to deal with their specific needs. It is both depressing and exhausting, and it's made it hard for me to get anything else done. Especially this. **

**But, never fear, I'll go down with the ship before I abandon this story. I do have two three day weekends ahead of me, after all. Cheers, loves!**

Bella was already exhausted by the time she reached the parking lot behind the science building. Between cleaning the deer, and dealing with Jake in his wounded pride she had had little chance to rest. Jake had not been able comprehend why his proffered loyalty had been so ignobly refused, and as a result, he had shadowed Bella relentlessly around her tiny apartment after she dropped off the deer carcass for butchering, getting under her feet and into her face, looking at her with all the soulful sadness of canine distress.

He had lurked outside Bella's tiny shower as she washed away the day's grime, his nose smearing against the glass, and Bella had just as sedulously ignored him. While the idea of a large hairy dog watching her bathe had once made Bella uneasy – eyes were eyes when one was naked, after all – she had learned through experience that mild discomfort was a better option than replacing the bathroom door. Toweling herself off had also proved a difficult task with Jake's heavy frame knocked against the back of her thighs, as he herded her toward her tiny, darkened bedroom – their wolf's den above the tiny bakery. Once dressed, Bella had fairly fallen into bed with Jake following hard on her heels, his massive chest heaving with a heavy contented sigh as he flopped his enormous body over the majority of the narrow mattress.

Sleep proved, not all that surprisingly, to be elusive.

She was restless, and Jake, too, refused to settle. He lay with his spine wedged against Bella's side, ready to lever her off the bed at any given moment, radiating heat and intermittently huffing with diabolical unease. Jake's unconditional devotion gave him the uncanny ability to sense that something more was afoot after the afternoon's encounter with the strange men that were not men, and his wolfish brain demanded that he plot a solution. For now, this translated into the dire need for Jake to be everywhere that Bella was, to inspect everything that she was doing with a doleful eye, and, if necessary, to be prepared to rescue the underwear that was currently being held captive in the evil clutches of the top dresser drawer. Which was why, as Bella lay staring sightlessly at the frescoed shadows of the ceiling above her, she kept one hand buried prophylactically in Jake's ruff.

Watching as the day's events with Edward and Emmett and the confrontation with Jake over the dead deer replayed themselves in the shifting darkness, she felt as though she were floating, as if her mind, the entity she had labored to create and protect had been cast adrift and only the scant hold she had on Jake's fur kept her anchored. For the past five years Bella had shaped her existence relying on the sole certainty of the knowledge that the Cullens were not coming back. The perpetual ache of their collective absence became her resolve: it drove her relentlessly, setting her feet on the trail, leading her step by painful step to the life she now led. It was a life she had grown to love, solitary though it was, and whether he meant it or not, Edward's resurrected presence was a threat to all she now held dear.

Bella sighed, rolling and burying her face into the soft fur behind Jake's ears, cupping one of them gently, and turning it toward her, brushed her lips against the fine silky hair.

"I'm not ready for this, Jake." It was barely a whisper. "I'm scared."

Jake tilted his head back at an almost impossible angle at the sound of her voice, his wolf's eyes soft and golden as they looked into her own, and Bella pressed her forehead against his. She could feel her heart, beating slowly in tandem with her hairy companion's and the elegant spring of his ribs as they rose and fell with steady breaths. His body was warm comfort against her anxious belly, and she clung to it desperately in the oppressive silence.

The unease of the afternoon seemed to leap and flutter in her chest like a caged bird – Emmett's revelation, his sympathy, had knocked the door open, letting her feathered anxiety free – she could almost see it flitting about in the shadows of the room. _He had lied._ Lied to her. Lied_ about_ her. He had lied about everything, and the idiocy, the injustice of it set her alight.

And her unspoken words from that afternoon echoed in the smothering dark:

_There would be a reckoning._

But to what end?

She would avenge her name, she would undo the hurt that Edward had wreaked on her behalf, but beyond that, she did not know. His duplicity had once again changed her life, ripping the rug from under her supposed reality that she no longer knew what direction she would take. All those years alone – the horrible dark time before she met Dr. Reyerson – had left a burning mark deep in her soul that no amount of scrubbing would get out. She had been angry at the presumption, at Edward's arrogant declaration that she would "just forget" and now . . .

Bella groaned, her fingers curling helplessly in Jake's fur.

"What a fucking mess."

A part of her still screamed to take them all back, to throw herself at Edward's feet and beg – plead with him to keep the darkness away, to make her whole again, make her a woman; but it was the smaller part of her, the older part, and the new Bella, born of hurt and betrayal whispered that she could not afford to take the chance; that what Edward had done once he would not fail to do again. And she had cursed herself for being weak, for even daring to entertain the idea in the first place.

X X X X X

It was still and quiet inside the car. The roaring of the Mustang's enormous motor was a muted hum in the rushing darkness, while the stars hung motionless in the sky above them. They had been driving now for a good part of the night, and the Canadian border was still over an hour away.

When Bella had first joined the Wolf Study, one of Dr. Reyerson's departing interns had remarked wryly to her that he was glad he was getting out, that Montana was "great and all, if you didn't mind everything being at least four hours away from anywhere else." It was true – that the vast space, the Big Sky, was a place of immeasurable distance and time, but that was what Bella had sought, then: time to heal, and the complete separation from her old life. And she had grown to love the solitude once the clamoring pain in her heart had subsided, fading into the background of the existence that she had created for herself.

Except for tonight.

Bella was bone tired and overwrought, and she clung to the steering wheel, desperately fighting to keep her eyes open, wanting nothing more than to scream, to laugh, to cry, to go merrily insane. For marooned on the dark open road with her was the very source of her anxiety, and the aching regret that had frozen her heart.

_Edward._

Because now, on the empty highway somewhere between Nowhere and Further Away From That, they had confessed themselves, stripped away their sullied exteriors and exposed the lies that had driven them apart. And the anger and anxiety that had plagued her seemed to gutter and dim as Bella realized that even though Edward had lied to her, _about _her, she was as much to blame for believing him, for thinking so little of herself to consider that she was unworthy. For the past five years she had focused on strengthening her façade, on creating a woman who was indifferent to the mysteries of the heart, of love and passion – the things that had almost destroyed her. But now, with Edward once again in the seat beside her, on the deserted stretch of road somewhere in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, she felt it all slip away, until she was once again stripped to the tiny raw thing in her deepest heart, bleeding with an anxious hope for a future she had never given herself the luxury to dream about.

Bella suppressed a shudder as her body tingled, her mind replaying the brief moment when they had touched, hearing Edward's sudden gasp as her mouth met his, his tongue sliding against hers, cool and sweet, setting all her senses alight with desire. Yet even as she flushed, Edward sat next to her, looking calm and unsuspecting, rumpled shirt non-withstanding. She could see him out of the corner of her eye as she drove, leaning his head against the window, looking out and above at the night sky, his collar gaping open where she had ripped off the buttons, exposing the smooth plane of his chest. Bella wanted to lick it.

She could still taste him on her lips.

_Concentrate, Bella._ She twisted her hands around the steering wheel, trying not to think about pulling the car over, climbing onto his lap, tearing the remaining buttons off his shirt and taking his mouth with hers, so she could hear that eager, stuttering breath all over again.

Unaware of the conflict he was causing, Edward rubbed his head against the glass, the wild tendrils of his hair waving like serpents against the glossy surface. His skin glowed in the soft light, warm, innocent and pure, his eyes remote as they stared into the darkness, and Bella flushed uncomfortably, feeling like a voyeur as the newly familiar ache settled deep within her belly.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she whispered.

Edward hummed out a sigh, the noise rumbled deep within his chest, and he was silent for a moment before he answered.

"Nothing," he said at last. "Everything. You. Me. My family." He shook his head. "Mostly how relieving it is to sit in total silence with someone." Bella could see the soft curve of a ghostly smile out of the corner of her eye.

"God, I've missed you, Bella."

She stiffened at the admission, not really ready to hear the latent possibility made the straight and narrow path she had been so artlessly traversing jig unexpectedly, pitching her over a sudden precipice into the unknown. Bella felt her stomach drop with the uncertainty of it all as the entirety of Edward's damnable revelation burned in her breast. She had not been prepared for this, for any of it, really; and she felt the hot prick of tears burning once again in her eyes. Desperate to repress them – her eyes felt like they had been packed with sand – Bella forced herself to speak.

"Do you ever wonder," she asked, fighting to keep her voice even, the effort making it husky and low, "Do you ever wonder what would have happened to Romeo and Juliet? If they hadn't died? If they had been able to stay together?"

She wasn't asking about Shakespeare.

Edward shifted, and for a moment, Bella saw his eyes glint, soft and warm, as they had done so many times in the past, as they would banter back and forth about even the most trivial things, delighted at the refreshing unpredictability of her unreadable thoughts; and then the light went out, and he looked young, and lost and sad.

"I don't know," he whispered at last. "Sometimes I wondered if they weren't too young. If they weren't too caught up in doing something forbidden." He chewed on his thumbnail. "I read a play once where they survived." Edward flashed Bella a wry smile that did not meet his eyes. "Romeo was a drunk, and Bella was a shrew. They hated each other."

Bella sighed, and two large tears spilled, winding a fiery track down her cheeks. "Poor things," she managed at last. "They didn't know what they were doing, did they?"

"No." Edward's voice was fathomless in its sadness. "No they didn't."

They were silent for a moment as Bella sniffled, wiping her suddenly streaming eyes on the rough sleeve of her jacket.

"I used to believe in happy endings," Bella murmured. "I used to think that even in Romeo and Juliet that the fact that they died loving each other made it okay. I used to think that I would die for love. I didn't know that it could kill me." Her eyes were distant, no longer looking out onto the road ahead, but onto an empty forest path, five years in her past, feeling a helpless tenderness for the innocent girl she had once been, now forever lost after all those years . . . empty . . . and alone.

Her voice bled pain and poison, the hidden and unspoken bits of her past that Edward did not know, and could not guess.

"Oh, Bella," he whispered in the agonized voice she had heard so often in her dreams. "What happened to you? Where did you go?"

"What hap – where?" Bella stuttered, feeling the hot angry thing that had resided for so long in her chest shiver and break. She choked out a sob. "Did you even bother to look?" The scorn she had been trying for fell sorrowfully short in the darkness.

Tentatively, Edward reached out, just barely touching the back of her injured hand with his fingertips.

"I tried, Bella, I did. I came back to find you – to tell you . . . but you were gone." His voice, usually so smooth and melodic, was rough and thick. "No one knew where you went . . . and Alice couldn't see . . ."

And suddenly it was unbearable. The darkness, the solitude, the desperate tenacity with which she clung to her new existence thundered down onto the looming exhaustion that threatened to consume her, crashing in relentless waves against her deepest resolve – and Bella jerked her hand away from Edward's, pressing her shaking fingers over her mouth, as if she could somehow stem the wrenching tide of grief that seemed to pour from her very soul; and the warm silence of the car was torn apart by her gasping sobs.

"Bella," Edward whispered, his voice cracking, not daring to touch her. "Bella, for the love of God, _pull over_."

Through the haze of tears, she was able to summon the presence of mind to steer the car over to the narrow shoulder on the mountain road, and then collapsed on the steering wheel, sobbing brokenly. It hurt. _Oh God, it hurt._ The tearing shattering pain of her inner self come crashing down, splintering acid fire in her desperately beating heart.

The Mustang emblazoned badge on the steering column pressed painfully on her breastbone as she wept, and Bella had the sudden urge to impale herself on it, as if she could bleed out the agony that constricted her.

This was worse than when she wept with Dr. Reyerson. Here in the darkness, she was utterly alone. There was no calm friend, no wise confidant to soothe her hurts, only the very real embodiment of the source of her pain and confusion. He had torn up the anchor of her resolve, and had unwittingly again cast her adrift in the sea of uncertainty. She wanted to be angry, to fight back against the sorrowful truth, to rebuild the Jericho wall that had shrouded her heart; but the trumpet had called, and the missile flung by the reckless trebuchet of their midnight confessional had destroyed her last defenses.

_Edward._

Edward in his impossible, immortal beauty, in the depths of his very human fears, had launched an unwitting assault on the last stand of the faulty precept on which she had built the bulwark of her persona. She was Aurora, and his violent kiss had torn down the briars surrounding her – but she was still too weak with the enchantment to join the waking world.

Dimly, she felt the hesitant, gentle touch of his cool hands as he reached over and turned off the ignition, plunging them into silence, and the musical click as he unbuckled her seatbelt, and pulled her gingerly, awkwardly onto his lap.

His arms were cool and strong and everything she had ever wanted, now five years too late as she sobbed brokenly against the broad expanse of his chest. Everything she had known, every last bit of the persona she had crafted was crumbling under the weight of Edward's confession, and the knowledge that underneath the hurt and grief and misbegotten sacrifice, that he loved her still.

_As I love him, God help me._

And Bella trembled, shuddering with the knowledge that for the first time since she left Forks, she did not know what to do.

X X X X X

"Tell me what you're thinking." Her voice was soft and low, and it made his insides clench. _Everything, _he wanted to answer. _My life, my death, but mostly you - your hair, your skin. The way I think your breasts would feel in my hands. _He had felt them pressed up against his chest as he had kissed her, firm and full, and maddeningly soft, and he ached to touch them. As if to smother that impulse, Edward traced his index finger against the arch of the doorframe. His eyes watched its path, not daring to look at Bella lest he give into the howling call of his newly aware masculinity, and drag her soft yielding female body against his own, drenching himself in her decadent heat.

_How much I want you. _

He did. More than anything. But it was more than the call of her blood, or the sensual promise of her body. He wanted all of her – the peaceful silence, the constant surprise of her banter, the way she made him feel once again alive with the loving trust that used to shine out of her soft eyes. Those eyes were dark now, shadowed with the lines of a secret past that he knew nothing about. And he couldn't help himself.

"_God, I've missed you, Bella."_ The confession slipped out of him unbidden – for so long it had swelled in his throat, unspeakable, burning with unabated desire and loneliness, now ready to consume him.

All of those years, the empty mornings, the sleepless nights. Again and again and again. Always without her, but tainted just the same.

She was right – she was his Juliet. But he would be no feckless Romeo charging off into the unknown, the afterlife without her. In his fear and inexperience he had almost become one, leaving Bella broken and alone, without the luxury of a drugged sleep to comfort her.

It was her weeping, and the sudden recollection of the image of the haunted Bella that had hung in Dr. Reyerson's office that undid him. Watching her collapse, suddenly deflated from the blazingly vehement young woman he had come to recognize her as tore at him more bitterly than any rejection that Bella could offer. Knowing that he was to blame, that he was everything he had once dreaded he would become, dangerous, unwelcome, and destructive, Edward knew his only recourse was to offer her his scant comfort, to do his duty by her as he should have done all those years before.

The fiery lust that scalded him seemed suddenly cold and dim as he reached across the gulf between them and pulled Bella's fragile body onto his lap. It was a moment he had dreamed of, holding her close once again, but he could not bear to have her pay the price of her own peace for his pleasure. Cursing himself, Edward held her gently, as though she might shatter with the slightest touch, rocking her softly against him, feeling his whole body sing as her heart thundered against his empty chest, beating strong enough for the both of them.

"_I'm sorry,"_ he whispered, over and over again. _"I'm so sorry."_ As though he could stem the violent surge of wracking sobs that flowed in a bitter torrent out of her slender form. And he wanted to weep himself, though he did not have the right.

Instead, Edward cradled her head softly against him, running his fingers gently through her hair, pressing his lips into the shining tangled mass, murmuring his apology, that meager comfort all the while.

"_I missed you,"_ she cried softly into his shirt, as the last of his buttons pattered softly onto the floor. _"I missed you."_

The words stung – painting the image of Bella, young and soft and alone, yearning for the moment that would never come, until finally she gave up, retreating into the unknown. He had been long gone by then anyway, too cowardly to admit he was wrong, too afraid of her rejection to come back and beg for her. Edward pressed his cheek against her temple, as if the coolness of his flesh could draw out the bitter heat, the venomous grief that plagued her, as if he could somehow hide his own shame. She had waited, and waited in vain.

Bella stilled eventually, her deep desperate breaths shuddering slowly into a more peaceful rhythm – one that was achingly familiar. It was the same tempo he had become so intimately familiar with in those halcyon days back in Forks: the soft exhalations of a trusting sleeper, restful and innocent, once again. And she was soft and yielding, and hard and strong, and all of her _Bella_ once again; and she was heaven in his arms.

He could not help himself, bathed in her warmth, in the wildness of her scent, the longing of his memories. Gently, so gently, Edward cupped her face in his hands, tilting it away from his shoulders, looking into her dark eyes, hooded with grief and despair.

"Bella, I would to God that I could change it all." He brushed one of the damp tendrils of her hair out of her face. "If I could undo what I did, and have those years with you back . . ."

They looked at each other for a long moment, barely breathing, the almost tangible aura of longing curling and swelling between them, and Edward found himself sinking into Bella's gaze as she held his, her expression both conflicted, and compelling.

"But I threw you away – the greatest treasure in all my life, and I was fool enough to let you go." He could feel the determination fire within him, coursing like the blood that raced under Bella's delicate flesh – he hoped she could see it. And suddenly her face seemed so incredibly close – his nose just barely sliding against hers. "I can live with the regret," she was limp and pliant in his arms as his breath whispered over her face. "But Bella, I cannot live without you."

Bella's eyelids drooped closed, and Edward felt the wrenching of his dead heart as he saw two small tears glitter against her lashes, and she shuddered in his arms as he let his forehead press gently against hers.

"Look at me," he whispered, watching the flicker of her irises behind her eyelids. "Bella, open your eyes." _I will not be a coward. I will not run away. _

It was at that moment, as the reality, the resolution filled his veins, that Bella opened her shining dark eyes, and looked full into his face. For a moment they both paused, captivated, bathed in the silence of the night, quiet enough to hear the dust fall in silent rain around them; and then Edward shifted his hold on her, subtly, slowly, and breathed his confession against her parted lips.

"I love you. I have always loved you. I will _always _love you. I would give my life to prove it to you."

"I never wanted your sacrifice, Edward," Bella's voice was small and sad, and the sorrowful tone perfumed his mouth, swirling in his brain like a drug. "All I ever wanted was you." One slender shone palely in the half-light as it came to rest against his cheek, gentle as seaweed. "But it's not our time anymore. Everything's changed, and I . . . " she paused, brushing her thumb softly over his cool skin, and Edward let his eyes flicker closed, hiding the blinding gleam of hope that shone out of them, his face a mask of peaceful understanding they clung to each other in the darkness, lips almost touching, yet seemingly miles apart. "I'll think of you."

Eyes still closed, Edward turned his head and gently kissed the inside of Bella's palm, right over the new thin skin of the horrible scar that blazed uncaring through her life and heart lines; hearing Bella's words for what they really were: a confession, and an admission that right now, battered and broken and confused as she was, her thoughts were all she had to give him, no matter that he couldn't hear them. It wasn't much, but for now, they would have to be enough.

_And so will I be._

**I thank you all once again for your kind reviews! You've made my week, my month and my whole New Year. And to the kind souls who have nominated me for a few of the Twilighted Awards - you make me glow! Check out their act of kindness and the other exceptionally worthy stories over at twilightawards [dot] this-paradise [dot] com**


	20. Icarus I Have Loved

**First of all, I would like to thank each and every last one of you for your kind support. These past few weeks have been brutal, and I can't tell you enough how much all of the lovely words of encouragement you have sent my way mean to me. Thank you. **

**I know I have fallen dreadfully remiss in my replies to all of your reviews, and for that I am sorry. I DO mean to catch up with all of them, but I hope, in the meantime, you will accept the tender olive branch of an extra long chapter.**

They slept that night in the back seat of the car, undisturbed on the empty stretch of Montana highway. Or at least Bella slept, while Edward remained in peaceful watchfulness.

The oppressive tension that had clung to them in the darkness seemed to ease the moment Edward's lips touched Bella's palm. It was a chaste gesture, almost antiquated, but the feeling behind it was undeniable. Somehow, it soothed them both, and for a time they lingered, Bella's forehead pressed against Edward's cheek while he seemed to draw out the poison of her hurt with the cool pressure of his mouth. Finally she pulled away, a slight grimace shadowing her features, her swollen eyelids drooping with exhaustion.

"My head fucking hurts," she murmured thickly, sounding annoyed as she wiped the residual tears from her cheeks.

"Back seat, Bella," Edward whispered, trying not to think about the usual implications of that sordid retreat. But Bella was beyond tired; and the events of the evening had sucked that appeal right out of the car, leaving it somewhere on the road behind them. She protested weakly out of formality, but Edward could hear the relief in her acquiescence. Quickly as he could, he got out of the car, flipping the seat forward so she could crawl into the back, trying to keep the lingering heat in the car from escaping into the chill of the night.

The thin cold air was fresh and dry, and cleansing as it scoured briefly through the car, diluting the wet salty air of grief that seemed to cling to their clothing, their hair, coating their skin, and Edward paused, feeling it whisper against his thin cotton undershirt, as the now button-less dress shirt flapped uselessly against his sides. All the night around him seemed to still, watching their odd tableaux in hushed attention, as if, for a moment, they were the only two people on earth alive. He supposed it should have been a tense moment, trapped as they were between resolution and responsibility: he to love her, and she to repair the wrong he hade done on her behalf, but for once, looking at the sky above him, bright with the moon and winking stars, Edward could not help but feel an overwhelming peace in the quiet solitude.

"_Thank you."_

He did not know to whom or what he spoke, only that he was grateful. Grateful that a creature as foul and damnable as he most certainly was could have the good fortune, not once, but twice, to have the chance to regain the last remnants of the humanity he was sure he had most certainly lost; that, through Bella, through loving her, and cherishing those things that she brought out in him, through her honesty and innocence, and her sheer tenacity, Edward knew he could reclaim his soul from all the blood and mire, the filth it was most certainly buried in.

All of that happened in a moment – a blinding flash of sudden clarity, and then, somehow, he was back in the car, pulling Bella into the back seat, snorting quietly with her when one of her hiking boots got snagged between the seats and she tumbled against him in an ungraceful heap. Pulling out the sleeping bag he found stuffed behind the driver's seat, along with a heavy wool blanket redolent of Bella and dog, Edward wrapped her up as best he could in the awkward space, doing his best to ignore the look of amused irritation that flickered over Bella's tired features.

X X X X X

Edward had always been a bit of a surprise to Bella – even beyond the supernatural that his existence represented. Maybe it was the conundrum, the bizarre contrast between his youthful appearance and the breadth of his dolorous experience. Or perhaps it was the brutal interior conflict that he subjected his psyche to, and how it contradicted his ready intelligence. Hearing Edward's confession in the front seat of the car, Bella could not help but be shocked to hear the inherent humanity in his fearful revelation – that she could hurt him through her own indifference. And for the first time, Bella felt that she might finally be his equal – that the man she had once thought to be some sort of god, or at least an angel, had only waxen wings after all, and that in his dreadful love of her, _for_ her, he had finally flown too close to the sun.

She could see something of that thought apparent on Edward's face as he lingered for a moment, squatting awkwardly between the front and back seats – a sort of earnest, beseeching look that was altogether new to her, as though he sensed himself dismissed but was reluctant to go – and it filled her with a wistful sort of sadness, knowing as she now did the sorrowful mistakes that had led to their miserable separation.

They stared at each other for a long moment as that knowledge ached and throbbed between them until Edward at last reached behind himself for the door handle, his eyes lingering on Bella's face.

"You should get some rest," he said softly, leaning away from her. "I'll not trouble you –"

And Bella shocked even herself, one arm shooting out from underneath her warm cocoon on its own volition, grabbing onto Edward's shirtsleeve with surprising force.

"No – stay." The words tumbled off her lips, tiny bombs in the soft darkness. She would allow this, she excused herself, this night, she needed this one indulgence.

_I don't want to dream._

Edward looked at her for a moment, mouth agape, his long fingers slipping clumsily off the door handle, thunking oddly against the Mustang's frame.

"I can't very well kick you out of my car in the middle of nowhere, Edward," she said with some asperity, irritated as she was by her own desperation. "You can either have the front seat or sit on the floor next to me."

Bella cast a jaundiced eye at Edward's position, wedged in the awkward gutter between the two seats, and the apparent ease with which he folded his lanky frame into the narrow space. _He could make an airplane bathroom look comfortable,_ she thought sourly; and she almost laughed out loud at the idea of Edward gracefully contorting his body into the space that most humans larger than an infant could barely negotiate. She watched him for a moment, his face carefully composed.

"There's a book in my bag," Bella said at last. "Just in case you get bored." And with that she rolled away from him, and pulled the blanket over her head. "I'll see you in a few hours."

She heard Edward shift and sigh, and the soft sound of the zipper on her duffle bag as he opened it, and then a barely muffled snort.

"_A Dissertation on the Behavioral Ecology of the Rocky Mountain Timber Wolf _? Riveting, Bella."

Groaning, Bella pulled the blanket closer about her shoulders.

"_Goodnight,_ Edward."

X X X X X

Sleep was once again a capricious and elusive companion. The churning distress in her belly was too much like the painful anxiety that had once lingered in the back seat with her on all the nights she had spent awake and terrified with no place to go; and later, the nagging dread as she listened to the midnight symphony of gunshots and sirens while she lay trembling in a heap of blankets on the floor in the horrible little studio apartment in Whitecenter with Mustang's distributor cap clutched in her fist. Or maybe it was just the sudden and unexpected familiarity of Edward's quiet breathing, and the silent rustle of pages as he read in the dark next to her, that rekindled the old fears in her, and made it impossible to sleep.

Bella lay curled in a ball under the blankets, her back arched defensively against the presence next to her, as if she could ward off the ever encroaching sense of both eagerness and foreboding that seemed to emanate from him, and which clouded the new path of her future. Never had she been so conflicted.

_Not our time,_ her pulse whispered to her. _But when would there be time?_

Unlike Edward, she did not have the eternal luxury of immortality to ponder the minutiae of her indecisions, or wallow in her failures, but instead she labored under the fragile and finite nature of her humanity. Her life, brief and painful as it was, could not be squandered for nothing, and until now, Bella desperately relied on the belief that she must do something, _be_ something, to keep the yawning darkness of her future at bay. But with Edward's sudden reappearance in her life, and the shocking revelation of his confession, what had once had to be enough, her life alone, was now suddenly as empty as it had been those five years ago.

He told her he loved her, that he wanted her. He had told her that before, and it had been a lie. She knew she should not trust him – that for all that he had done, she could not, but Bella was alone and tired, and her resolve lay tattered and crumbled around her; and seeing Edward so different, so broken where she had once held him in almost reverential awe softened the last bits of the iron cage around her heart.

And the last of Dr. Reyerson's words to her echoed in her ears, a shout in the quiet darkness:

"_Don't be afraid, Isabella, to reach out and take love when it stands before you. Don't let your fear make too you blind to see."_

Bella rolled, hiding a reluctant smile under the blankets as she once again saw Edward's face, and the bland look of concentration he was trying, and very obviously failing to project. Instead, stamped all over his elegant features was the expression of patent longing mixed with a sort of anxious hope, and as his brilliant eyes slid quickly away from her face – where he so obviously had been staring – he looked nothing so much like the young human boy he once must have been; and then he was just _Edward_, sad and lost an alone, as fearful and fretful as she knew herself to be. The realization shook her, warmed her and comforted her, and finally she understood_._

_Poor boy, _she thought to herself. _Poor me, _and then, out loud:

"Fuck it."

And with all the grace of a crocodile, she lifted up the blanket and grabbed him by the shirtfront, lifting him up off the floor and rolling him up against her, a hopeless muddle of arms, legs, hair, and confusion before she covered them both in the warm darkness.

X X X X X

It was full daylight when they pulled into the park proper in Banff.

Bella had shocked Edward once again, pulling off onto the soft shoulder of the tree lined drive, shutting the car off, and stepping into one of the shaded patches beneath the evergreen canopy. He had opened the door to go after her, but paused as she signaled him to stay back. She stood stock still, and Edward could hear her breathe deeply through her nose, her shoulders back and her spine arched.

The cool air in the park was soft and fresh and golden, but still and quiet, the sunlight falling through the woven patterns of the fir needles in tiny motes of brilliance. It crowned Bella with a radiant halo, falling about her shoulders like a robe, mantling her in dappled royalty. For a moment it seemed that the sun shone through her, almost as if it were lighting up her pale skin from the inside, illuminating her with an unearthly glow, and once again, Edward wondered if perhaps Bella was really a goddess after all.

Something of that strangeness clung to her, her new grace and knowing stillness as she turned and beckoned to Edward, calling him to her side with a simple tilt of her head. Stepping from the car, he felt as if he were floating, his feet moving of their own volition, and he was blind to everything around him except the splendid radiance of the woman before him. Next to hers, his own unnatural skin seemed to pale and dim, and breathing the same air, hearing the soft heavy beat of Bella's heart and the warm pulse of her blood, once again he felt almost mortal, almost human, and for that brief moment he would be eternally grateful to her.

Bella looked up at him, the motion causing her eyes to catch the falling light, and her irises glowed red and gold and suddenly alien as she caught his gaze.

"They know you're here," she whispered to him. "They know what you are."

She did not have to elaborate. The forest was utterly still, waiting, watching; and Edward could hear what she could not: the far off rustle of twig and brush as it was disturbed by urgent and furtive passage, and beyond that, the defiant pause of the hot-blooded predators as they rose to meet their fate.

Edward stood close, feeling the heat and awareness radiating from her own warm body, her very being draped in gold with the fog of her breath rising like smoke in the cool air, a living flame in the sunlight, and he wondered if she would burn for him again, like she had the night before.

For last night, although Edward had known that cardiac arrest was impossible for him, the shock and surprise of the wiry strength of Bella's arms as she yanked him against her incredible warmth was enough to make him feel as though his heart had simply dropped out of his body.

He had not been prepared for it – the tentative truce between them as yet undefined – and listening to her uneven, frustrated _wakeful _breathing as he stared unseeing at the printed pages before him, Edward had rather wondered if Bella were using the ruse of sleep to avoid further conversation with him. But that sort of evasive tactic seemed contrary to the ruthlessly blunt woman that this new iteration of Bella had revealed herself to be, and Edward instead found himself waiting for the moment when her resolve would break, and she would finally roll over and admit that true rest had eluded her. Therefore it had been utterly shocking – as though the floor had suddenly fallen out from under him – when Bella had reached over and grappled him to her under the blankets, rolling him against her warm and yielding softness, and pressing the new curves of her feminine body up against him, nestling her cheek against his chest, hooking a leg between his own.

Edward had smothered an uneven breath in her hair as he cradled her to him, one hand curling about the nape of her neck, the other sliding in cautious exploration down the elegant spring of her ribcage to the new and unfamiliar lush swell of her hip, keeping her close. Her touch set him afire, scorching his empty veins with carnal lust and soulful longing, tearing down the flimsy walls of the boundaries that he had once insisted were for both of their safety – those manifestations of his own fears and insecurities – and Edward found with the new courage of his resolve surging through his veins that he could not bring himself to care.

He wanted her. _God_, how he wanted her - this new vibrant creature so alive and perceptive, from whom he could hide nothing, not even his physical desire; and just like that night in Alaska, Edward found himself once again fighting that primal urge to pull the clothing from her body, to bear her down beneath him under the blankets, into the cool vinyl, to pour his grief and hope and longing into her yielding flesh. And somewhere within the maelstrom of his desire, Edward heard the unspoken whisper of feminine affirmation as Bella shifted and sighed against him, the subtle movements telling him that his attentions might be welcome, after all.

But he could not afford to let himself take her that way. For somewhere in that painful, poisonous moment when they had drawn the confessions out of each other, seen their fears manifested in the air before them, they had come to an understanding. And he knew that when Bella had looked into his eyes and told him, _"It's not our time, any more,"_ what she had really meant was that the grand and foolish and tragic love that they had shared and so impetuously squandered was over – that were they to have a future together, they could no longer be Romeo and Juliet, young and childish, but instead Edward and Bella, man and woman and altogether equal.

Thankfully, Bella was oblivious to Edward's internal struggle as his new understanding of their relationship warred with his body's less than chivalrous intentions, for almost the minute her cheek hit his chest, the final remnants of the terrible vibrating tension that pulsed off of her seemed to suddenly fade away, and her deep heavy breaths told him that, at long last, she was finally asleep. The moment and all the opportunity it implied had passed, and Edward had grit his teeth, his body clamoring for relief, and prayed to any and all deities he could think of that Bella would not mention his name in her sleep, lest he had to add a new round of sins to the already too numerous multitude of his experience.  
Now as they stood, bathed in the clear light of midday with all of their old secrets laid out before them, Edward felt it all once again swell within his chest, the hope, the longing, and the utter amazement surging in his heart as he beheld the woman before him – this new Bella, nothing like he remembered, and more than he ever could have dreamed of.

_Diana,_ he thought once again. _Goddess of the hunt. And my heart._

"You cannot follow me here," Bella whispered. "I – I'm sorry, Edward. You'll have to go to the lodge."

"It's all right," he murmured, watching as some unreadable shadow passed over her face. "I didn't expect to come with you." He looked down at her. Somehow, they had drawn close to one another. If he bent just a little, he could touch her forehead with his own. The heat of her breath ghosted through his shirt, sliding across his ribs in a soft caress. His skin rippled in pleasant gooseflesh, pricking him with desire, the tiny hairs on his neck standing on end. He itched – burned – to touch her. But he knew he could not. She was right, the scent of him would be too strong on her, and it would either drive her quarry away, or worse, incite them to attack her. Instead, he contented himself to let one hand skim the molten halo formed by the loose strands of hair as they escaped the confines of their braid, feeling the fine filaments ignite a fiery path against his cold flesh; and he looked into the fathomless well of her eyes, as they shimmered earthen brown, and blue and umber in the heavenly light, finding himself oddly compelled to speak and to confess.

"When I first saw you, that one day five years ago, I was angry, so angry that one girl, a _human_, could have so much control over my instincts, could break me. Your call was a challenge to me – if I could overcome you, I could consider myself truly . . . superior." Edward shook his head regretfully, watching the strange glimmer of his pale flesh as the delicate threads of Bella's hair burned red and bronze against it.

"I was so wrong," he said quietly. "I was so blind." And every last fiber of his being screamed at him to take this woman, this _goddess_ who stood before him in his arms, to clasp her to him and never let her go. He grit his teeth once again, steeling himself against the dreadful clamoring of his masculinity, his weakness, and instead spoke the words he knew he must.

"You have become so much, done so much more than I ever could have known, than I ever could be." He coiled a bit of her hair around one finger. _My Diana._ "I would not have you be any less because of me."

Bella nodded slowly, her eyes fixing him, rooting him to the spot, and she leaned closer and up, the sun-drenched heat of her body scorching him through his clothes, dangerously close, and in that brief moment he could feel their lips almost touching but not quite as she whispered against his mouth,

"Nor I you."

He wanted to disagree, to tell her that he was a fool, and one of the damned at that, utterly unworthy of her regard, but Bella's hot breath coiled over his tongue, burning his lungs, slipping deep into his belly, lighting a slow fire he never wanted to extinguish, and if he could have, in that moment, Edward Cullen was fairly certain that he would have melted.

X X X X X

Bella had driven a rather stunned Edward a few more miles down an unpaved forest service road to an old trailhead, its terminus marked by a tiny ranger's cabin. She had pulled her backcountry pack out of the Mustang's trunk, where Edward was not surprised to see his own bags peering up at him, before she pressed the car keys into his own hand.

"I should be out in a few days . . . a week at the most," said Bella softly. "My track is north and west of here, so if you need to, um . . . eat . . . " she trailed off as she looked up at him, her mouth quirking slightly.

"Go south and east," he finished for her. "And make sure it doesn't beep. Yes, I know, Bella." His responding smile was more of a grimace. In the brief time they had spent together he had already almost forgotten the implications of their differences.

_Wolves taste like shit, anyway, _Edward wanted to add; but about that, he remained silent. There would be time, he was sure, for that inevitable conversation on the long drive back to British Columbia.

Bella said no more. She flashed him a quick but brilliant smile, and turned away from him, stepping lithely up the gentle slope to the tiny, lichen encrusted ranger's cabin. Edward leaned back against the Mustang, watching her as she unlocked the moss stained door and went inside, not wanting to leave until she was truly gone. After a long moment Bella reappeared, striding back out onto the old trail. Under one arm she now carried a matte black pump action shotgun, a bandolier of shells slung across her chest, their red casings winking cheerfully at him out of the nylon webbing that held them. On the back of her pack she had hooked a collapsible radio antenna, and a giant pair of headphones now hung about her neck. She paused, saluting him with a nod and a quick dip of the muzzle of her gun, before stepping back onto the shadowed path, and moving quickly up into the hills, the soft swing of her hips burning into Edward's brain as the encroaching arms of the forest drew her in and robbed her from his sight.

X X X X X

Several days had passed since then. Not feeling the need to hunt, Edward had instead remained close to the tiny ski bungalow he had chosen. It nestled cheerfully within a wooded park, an artificial village backed up against the real wilderness, with a broad vista leading down to the large lake, which the tourist map framed next to the front door of his cabin identified as Lake Louise. Originally, Edward had intended in only exploring only the areas close to the lakeshore before returning to his lodgings so as not to disturb the fragile corridor in which he knew Bella to be working in. He had traveled the world far and wide, but Edward had never bothered to visit much of Canada – having decided long ago that most of the territory was like any other part of it: cold, forested, and largely unpopulated. In Banff, however, he found he was pleasantly surprised.

It was a resort community to be sure, with much of the local infrastructure set up to support the tourist trade, but scattered among the lodges and larger hotels that fronted along the lake, there were also the smaller cabins that belonged to several artist foundations. Here Edward lingered, looking at the odd bits of human intellectual detritus – the sculptures and random paintings that had been integrated into the landscape. The silent static nature of the artwork was a stark contrast to the mental noise he was used to, for here, instead of the silent words and images that raced brutally uninvited through his mind, Edward instead could pick and choose what thoughtful progressions he would open his subconscious to.

Therefore Edward found himself spending as much of the limited daytime hours out of doors in the cover of the trees. There was something about this place – commercial though parts of it undoubtedly were – that was clean and pure, and a stark contrast to the other wooded places he had learned to call home, to take shelter and sustenance from. A soft continual breeze blew in from the west, bearing with it the faint salt remnants from the Pacific – lingering on his tongue like an almost memory, but the chill granite air emanating from the rugged mountainside, and the hushed expectancy of the slowly decaying volcanic rock seemed somehow to make it new, to suspend the latent regret of old recollections, to baptize it anew in the rose and gold of the sunsets that flamed over the dry peaks jutting up above the lakeside.

The snows were late this year.

It was mid November, and the ground, like the air around him, was dry and cold, shivering in anticipation of the falling icy down that would comfort it in its winter slumber. For now it had to be content to wait in shrouded lethargy, the fallen needles and leaves, brown and dry, and drained littering the forest floor while Edward wandered along an old deer track that traced along the rising hillside above the lake. The sky was gray and lowering, and the light wind had paused, holding its breath against the gathering moisture, and the still waters of Lake Louise glimmered oddly up through the trees, flat and leaden, and oddly metallic, as the electric promise of the season's first snowfall charged the air around him.

Edward felt the tangled locks of his hair rise and wave in the hushed stillness that was not wind, a strange pull drawing him further down the dim outline of animal track. There were no woodland creatures to watch his passage here. Bella had been right in that – that the reverberation of his presence had scattered them to the four corners, rolling away from him like ripples on the surface of a pond disturbed by a drop of falling water. And for once, it was oddly calming to be completely alone, to be away from the scattered shouting thoughts of others – now reduced by distance and seclusion to a faint hum in the far recesses of his mind, or even the panicked thrumming of animal dread as he stalked, a solitary predator through the forested wilds.

Here, Edward found, he did not dread his thoughts. The dry woods of this forestland bore no painful memories, nor did they harbor the ancient harsh judgments for his mistakes. Instead, he could wander through the trees alone and unassuming, feeling pleasantly alive, and, strangely enough, once again, _human._

He had Bella to thank for that. Bella in her incredible passion and resilience had shown him, albeit indirectly, that he could remake himself, that he could draw himself out of the loathsome muck he had drowned himself in for the better part of a century, and that at last, he could finally live, and that he could finally live with himself, and all that his existence implied.

Lost in the quiet contemplative silence, Edward meandered further down the trail, his pace slow and thoughtful, his mind deliciously blank. A long fingerling of sunlight that had braved its way through the gathering clouds lit up the very tops of the mountainside above the lake, giving the light around him an strange orange cast, and, as it did so, Edward felt the first tentative tingles of precipitation against his cold skin. Mentally shivering out of his hushed reverie he looked up, then, finally, and could not help but breath a tiny gasp.

He was standing in the midst of a tiny clearing, natural in its entirety, ringed in by slender pines, their branches straining up and away, reaching for the fading light. It was not unexpected sight of the open ground that had stopped him but rather the unnatural touch that transformed the area into something else entirely. The ground before him was raked smooth, and the earthen tones of the forest floor had been replaced, covered with a blanketing of smooth white quartz stones and tiny round seashells, trailing in a glowing ridged swirl toward a pale marble form in the center.

There, in the midst of the sharpening spiral, was a monolith of sorts, smooth and slender, but strangely human, as its curving, undulating yet androgynous form seemed reach longingly upward toward the sky. And lingering in the open air above the clearing was a sight Edward had never before seen: suspended almost as if by magic, on a barely visible network of clear fishing line, was an explosion, a profusion of brilliant white feathers, swirling upwards toward the fading light only to fall down, and down again, caught in the transparent web, until at last they formed a pair of wings, plummeting toward the earth, stripped of flight, to the yearning, crippled stone form hunched in the middle of the clearing.

"_Icarus Falls," _a soft voice intoned to him across the clearing.

Utterly surprised, Edward whipped his head up. He had been so entranced, so immersed in the unfolding tragedy of the scene before him he had not heard the stealthy approach, nor even the soft, compelling heartbeat of the person who now appeared before him, stepping ghostlike out of the shadows.

_Bella._

She stood before him like an apparition, the incarnation of all his unearthly longing in the flesh, so much sturdier than his foolish waxen dreams. Yet she looked so tired. Her heavy pack lay at her feet, the arm that held the shotgun was no longer stiff and sure, and her pale face bore the telltale lines of exhaustion. Sometime during her travails she had released her hair from its braid, letting it fall in a rippling, shimmering curtain down her back.

But of all this, it was her eyes that caught him. Burning darkly at him out of their shadowed confines, they called to him, and as she took one uncertain, faltering step onto the clean white stones Edward found himself suddenly across the clearing, his feet having moved of their own accord, barely crunching on the carefully laid design.

Gently, so gently, he pulled the shotgun out of Bella's nerveless grasp, easing it down on the ground beside them. For a moment they stood, frozen, their lingering breaths perfuming the air around them as their breasts rose and fell in unison, almost touching; and then an elemental, almost visible shiver passed through them both, and the spell broke. Reaching forward, Edward took her in his arms, molding Bella's warm, pliant feminine body against his own, pulling her ever closer as he leaned down and covered her parted lips with his own.

The snow began to fall in earnest then while Edward silently whispered the secrets of his heart against Bella's open mouth, feeling her hands clutch and press against his chest, before tangling themselves in an inexorable hold around his neck. Her lips took up the silent chant against his, baring her soul to him in the way that words could not, her eager, anxious, tired breaths pressing the soft fullness of her breasts against the hard muscles of his chest, and Edward groaned softly into her mouth.

Bella's tongue slipped fiery hot against his own as her body went incandescent in his arms, until his own crackled with the answering flame, scorching up into the base of his brain, and Edward fell to his knees, taking Bella down onto the forest floor with him. Dimly, through the rising heat, and the roar of his desire Edward heard the raspy crunch of quartz and shells beneath them, and the rapid thundering of Bella's heart as he at last broke away from the haven of her lips, and trailed his open, wanting mouth against the delicate arch of her throat.

Somehow Bella was straddling his lap, her hands fisted in the soft cotton of his shirt, urging him against her, as he slipped one shaking arm around her hips, pulling her pelvis flush against him, delighting in her shaking, panting gasps, before sinking both hands in her hair, tilting her head back, tasting the curve of her neck, breathing her in, devouring her with his touch.

This kiss, this passion that consumed them was nothing like they had shared before. There were no fears, no boundaries, no underlying insecurities that inhibited their touch, only the swell and push of their bodies as they strained together as equals, male and female, fueled with the lust, and the longing, the unconsummated desire of the past five years. And the rising heat from Bella's panting breaths melted the falling snow, so that it dripped down Edwards cheeks like the tears that fell from her own tightly closed eyes.

He could feel her shiver against him as his eager hands slid up under her rough canvas jacket, trailing up her ribcage, dancing along her collarbone, desperate and nervous, as Bella's actions mirrored his own, her lips tracing liquid fire against his jaw, her every exhalation that puffed hotly against his cold skin deepening the ache in the pit of his belly. It swirled and twisted in his chest, low and dark where Bella's hips pressed up against him, blinding him to everything around him, the cold air, the drifting snow, the fallen mortal behind them trapped forever in marble, to everything except the delicious softness of Bella's body, and the rapid thrum of her mortality as it pulsed beneath his touch.

And so he could not help himself when she bit into his earlobe, sighing softly as he ground her against his own wanting body, feeling the sharp prick of her teeth against his hardened skin, inciting him; and Edward growled, low and passionate, deep in his throat, and his hands seemed to move of their own volition, winding in the collar of her shirt, tearing it suddenly down the middle, exposing the lush swell of her breasts as they rose out of a plain white bra, flushed and heaving before him.

Bella arched against him, her lips bruising against his own, as his hands ghosted over the maddening curves of the flesh he had always denied himself. Edward pressed his open mouth against her burning skin, tasting the sweetness of her, the mingled flavor of their longing, the freshness of the snow, as the tiny flakes melted against her almost bared breasts, bursting with desire against his tongue.

"_Edward,"_ Bella's voice whispered to him, the sound vibrating under his lips. _"Edward."_

It was a plea and a command, drawing him back from whatever deep dark lustful pit to which his consciousness had briefly fled, and Edward raised his head, letting his gaze travel slowly up the rosy, impassioned, and now quite obviously_ chilled_ skin that he had exposed, until at last he looked up into Bella's deep dark eyes, unable to suppress his own shudder as they stared back into his own, hooded with desire, and a lone tear trailed down her flushed cheek.

She cupped her own hands along his jaw, and her gaze held him as her mouth opened, working soundlessly for a moment, as they sat tangled together at the opening of a woodland clearing, panting into each other's mouths, Bella's shirt ripped open and Edward's hair exploding with unabashed lust, as Icarus in his foolish youth fell perpetually to earth behind them in the downy snowfall; all that in the long moment before Bella finally found the words she had been looking for all those years in the woods.

"I want to go home."

**Holy longest chapter ever, Batman! I hope you liked it. I know that I sure did. And as for the ending . . . it's not so wrapped up as it seems.**

**Pause for another one of Caligula's brief lessons in Greek Mythology: Icarus who, while wearing the feather and wax wings made by his father, failed to heed the older man's warning, and flew too close to the sun, melting the wax of his wings, and plummeting from the sky to his death in the sea below. It's a great commentary for the beautiful recklessness of youth, and the contrast it makes when compared to the staid safety of adulthood. Kinda like Romeo and Juliet, eh?**

**What can I say, I love this stuff.**

***Cracks knuckles and cackles maniacally***


	21. Misty Mountain Hop

**It's that time again. Boy howdy has Real Life been, um, just that. I would like to insert some other invectives there, but for now, my brain is swimming, and I'll just be leaving it off as a bad job. Suffice to say, I cannot thank all of you enough for your kind words and encouragement, as well as your cheerful good wishes. I've laughed, I've sighed, I've never felt so fortunate to have the chance to do this. Thank you.**

**A thousand thanks to all of you who have nominated me over at the Twilighted Awards (twilightawards [dot] this-paradise [dot] com) as well as for the Eddies and Bellies (thecatt [dot] net]. It's probably too late to go vote, but there are some absolutely fabulous stories listed on both forums that you should check out - especially when certain authors are remiss in posting on a regular basis. **

***ahem***

The dry ground crunched under her feet. The first winter snows had yet to fall, and the freezing night temperatures had drawn the remaining moisture from the soil, rising up from the ground in tiny fluted opalescent towers, huddled together like a multitude colony of icy mushrooms. There was a biting quality to the air, a dry smoky, snowy taste on the back of Bella's tongue that crept down her throat and chilled her spine.

She was tired, but it was a pleasant sort of exhaustion. The last five days had been a constant mix of hiking and running as Bella chased her quarry over the rugged Canadian mountainside. She had been tracking the part of the pack that the Canadian members of the study had tagged further up north, using their shared collection of radio-collar signals to measure their range as the wolves moved south, following their migratory game to the winter feeding grounds.

For a time, the wolves had drawn her northward, high up into the ragged hills, as she searched for the signals that lurked in the shadows around the open alpine meadows, following a quarry that wheeled and circled, vultures of the earth, ever watchful, ever wary; far more cunning than the human that pursued them.

Bella had relished the chase. There was no darting or physical inspection to be done – the battered old Mossberg was for her protection only – and so she was instead able to move at a more primitive pace, using her instincts to draw her to the faint pinging signals that would tell her how far her wolves had ranged. She ran, she stepped, she leapt, letting the exertion sweat out the anxiety that coursed through her veins, purging the misgivings from her like the breaking of a fever. With every cold breath that seared into her aching lungs, and each curling twist in the muscles of her thighs as they slipped across her bones, the clench of her calves pulling her down the trail, she felt the releasing of those fears that had held her mind to the ground, binding her to the pain of her old life, burning them away.

When night fell, its darkness heralded by the last orange rays of the sun slipping behind the cold blue stone of the Canadian Rockies, so to would she go to earth, cocooning herself in the down of her sleeping bag. Wrapped up in feathers and nylon, drugged with exhaustion, she would sleep the night through, while the silent stars spun overhead, watchful fates, whispering their mysteries to her sleeping ears.

Always, she would awake before the dawn, jerking out of her slumber with the flavor of a name on her lips, the apparition of her dreams, just out of sight and memory. Her heart would race, and her nipples would tighten with anticipation as her flushed body clamored for the respite of the touch that would not appear to sooth it. And Bella would shove herself out of her bag, divesting herself of it as she could not the new adult desire that had suddenly possessed the dull and predictable flesh she had come to call her own – coming to her unbidden in the night, prickling her skin, setting her very being aflame – burning for that golden moment in the forest, and the pale young man who had shone with her in the pale sunshine.

_Edward._

The fire overtook her, scorching through her body, seeping through her pores, lighting the path before her so that she ran in brightness, clothed in the light of a sun that no longer circled overhead in the cold winter sky. It surged and effervesced within her, blazing through her nervous system until she was alight with it, swelling in her chest, buoying her up, until she felt as though she could step off the rocky mountain trail, up over the rough hewn landscape, and into the clouds.

His presence, his resurrection thrilled her, disturbed her new existence to its very foundation. And the sight of him, in that brilliant moment those few days ago, as he stood as close to her as he dared, their desperate skins almost touching, tasting the sweetness of his breath as she whispered against his lips, was burned into her brain; a constant mirage on the trail before her, tantalizing her, taunting her, until her breasts, her belly, her thighs ached with the dual frustration of desire and duty. She could feel him against her as she ran, her feet stepping soft and sure over the rocky terrain, as the cool air knifed through her clothes, wrapping around her in a ghostly embrace, throbbing in time with her heart, until in every beat, in every breath and each step, the silent tempo echoed with his name, tumbling off her chapped lips, slipping between her thighs.

Running along the hidden mountain trails, the deer tracks, and open scree, Bella felt the last of her lingering anger dwindle and fade, until it was a line, a memory like the scar on her hand; proof of her injury, and of her ability to overcome. Angry as she had once been, angry as she was, that night in the car, until he kissed her and made her very world go mad, so easily did that barricade come down, as one man, her only love, pulled her heedlessly into his arms in a desperate attempt to draw the poison out of them both.

Their wounds would no longer be mortal. They would heal, Bella knew, for all that it had been so easy to hold onto the hurt and the anger; to see all of her insecurities smothered by the lie that Edward had told her. His own confession had shone a light into the depths of her own guilt. Had she loved herself enough, believed in herself, she would have seen the real truth in his eyes, and known how her ready acceptance of his defection had actually hurt him.

On the fifth day she ran. Her data was collected, her duty was done, and the lone signal she had left to follow came from no radio collar, but from a strange magnetic tug emanated from somewhere behind her navel, as though iron north had become some shaded seclusion deep within the park, somewhere in the hillside above the lake. And she was drawn to it, pulled by some unknown force, down the mountainside, to what she did not know. Her pack bumped roughly on her back, and the dead weight of the shotgun jerked heavily on her arm. She was unaware of these things, but remained intent on the signal, the call that pulled her wheeling circle ever south.

The call drew her, demanded her, and Bella's booted feet beat a steady tattoo upon the ground, the ropy sinews of her legs curling and hurling her downward through the timberline, through the pine canopy, into the shadow of the trees, into the ancient darkness shrouded within their branches. Her lungs burned with every inhale, shooting oxygen through her veins, pushing her, compelling her ever faster, beyond the ache, the protest of her already tired muscles. Each pounding step flashed behind her eyeballs, a claxon warning of imminent collapse, and yet still she ran, no more able to stop herself than she could stop the sky if it suddenly chose to fall.

There was a sudden puff in the still air, a quick breath of wind heralding the falling snow. Her hair snagged on something, the band of her braid breaking loose, and her long tresses whipped out behind her like a banner as her flagging yet desperate strides devoured the terrain.

There was a brightness ahead – white ground against the gray sky, shimmering oddly in the muted browns and greens of the drowsing forestland, and suddenly she was at the edge of a clearing. She stopped dead, her breath catching in her throat. Before her was a sight she had only read about, reenacted in marble and shells and soft feathers winging in deceptive death against the sky: the mythic fall of a young boy, betrayed by his foolish pride. He fell, he reached, he stretched, trapped in stone, forever yearning for the freedom that was always just out of his grasp.

"Icarus Falls." She did not know she had spoken aloud until suddenly the bottle cap Edward had given her flamed, hot and alive, in the pocket of her jeans.

"Oh . . ."

For suddenly she saw on the opposite end of the clearing the real incarnation of that fallen man:

_Edward._

He stood just as he had that night in Alaska, still and remote, his skin glowing oddly in the dying light. But, unlike the last time, he was unaware of her presence; and Bella felt almost as though she were intruding on some intimate revelation, seeing his face etched with sadness and longing, looking once again impossibly young, the cuffs of his jeans uncharacteristically dusty, and the reddish mop of his unruly hair whipped to an almost unrecognizable frenzy, as though it had been trying to climb the trees as he walked under them.

And Bella's heart broke for him, standing, lost and alone, eternally divided from the vibrant, violent, and violently brief human life that he so patently craved, that he had reached for, through her, and fallen so woefully short.

Poor Edward, who had been destined to die all those years ago, when Carlisle in his loneliness had ripped the promise of heaven and the afterlife from him. Edward, now trapped within the stone skin that was neither living nor dead, hard nor soft, marble nor flesh, the undreaming half life of unsolicited immortality.

He had not wanted the life that Carlisle had forced upon him – not under those deadly terms, and had instead labored sadly, angrily, and righteously frustrated under the existence that had been wrought upon him, content to be neuter, until she had blazed into his life, a shot into his unbeating heart.

_Poor innocent Edward._

Seeing him now, misery plain on his features, Bella wanted to fall down on the earth and weep for him, to curse the man who in all his kind benevolence had seen fit to remove the terrible waste of Edward's eternal rest, and reward him with living damnation. But she could not, knowing that she in her self doubt had been just as guilty.

He was before her then, pulling the Mossberg from her numb fingers. She heard the grim, gravely crunch of metal on stone as it dropped to the ground, and felt the cool touch of one hand against her cheek as the other slid along her hip, with his mouth soft and sure against her own, and she was wax in his arms.

"_This!"_ her body shouted at her. _"This man!"_ She melted against him, sinking to earth as he set her aflame, letting him mold her body to his own, feeling the delicious hardness of his wiry frame pressed against hers. Her breasts, her body ached for him, and she arched unwittingly against him, as if the cool touch of his skin could ease the maddening pressure of her swollen flesh.

"I want you," she whispered wordlessly into his mouth, along his jaw, into his ear, branding it into his hard skin with her teeth.

From somewhere far away, through the rushing blood in her ears, she heard the sound of ripping fabric, and felt the burning touch of Edward's cool hands, his open mouth on the sensitive skin of her breasts.

They did not speak; that moment, as they strained against each other on the forest floor, communicating soundlessly in the timeless language of the body had dissolved that final reticence of the mind, birthing between them a new understanding of who they had both become.

She wanted him. Wanted him to take her. Take her away from the sadness, the conflicted confusion of her existence. She wanted him to take her to earth, down on the ground, to mark her naked flesh with his own. She wanted him, wanted it all, his heart, his mind, the earthly delight of his cold body as it moved against hers, passionate and unrestrained. And finally, she knew what the destination of the wandering painful trek her life had led her on, and where she had been running to, all those five years in the woods.

_Edward._

And herself. The Bella that was whole, the Bella that could love her fallen boy, and the Bella that could heal him, body and soul, with the pure offering of her own.

Here. Here was life. Here in his arms she knew what she wanted. There was only one thing left.

"I want to go home."

X X X X X

They sat for a moment in silence, as Bella's words dropped slowly around them. The smoke of her breath rose slowly skyward, whispering with the sweet incense of pagan sacrifice. Edward held her on to softly, his hands resting gently on the swell of her hips as they spread wide athwart his thighs. His very being swam with primal lust as the lush heat of the woman straddling his lap pressed against him, with the world silver and crimson with the falling snow and the sound of Bella's rushing blood echoing strangely in his empty chest.

"Home?" he said stupidly, his hands tightening urgently on her soft flesh. The words meant something, something important, but the thunderous pounding of Bella's heart throbbed loudly between his ears in tandem with the resounding ache deep in his groin. In his confusion he felt the vague stirrings of alarm.

_What home could she mean? Surely not . . ._

And then Bella was smiling gently at him, her red lips soft and inviting as her chilled, warm hands heated his cheeks, and she tapped her forehead softly against his.

"Home, Edward. With you, wherever that may be."

All his words, the eternal affirmation, crowded into his mouth, choking him with all the effectiveness of awkward youth, and Bella must have seen something of the joyful, resounding, "Yes!" that he could not speak, for suddenly she was kissing him, long and deep, her lips moving languorously against his own, long minutes of it as her skin rippled with equal parts gooseflesh of both cold and desire.

Edward groaned into her mouth, wrapping his arms firmly around her soft frame, pulling her body flush against him. Her kisses were warm, sweet aloe against the painful poisonous wound of self-doubt and hatred that had plagued him throughout his undying existence. They confessed him, absolved him, purified the bitter stain that sullied his inescapable, ever wakeful life.

_Bella._

His salvation and his life.

Bella, now bestride him, exposed, the soft fullness of her feminine flesh heaving in the chill mountain air as he kissed it with an open mouth; Bella's body whispering the silent words to him that he had waited all his immortal life to hear: that he was wanted, desired; that he was home.

And so he could not bring himself to be ashamed at the sight of her, her lips swollen from his rigorous attention, her eyes dilated, black with desire, the flush of her cheeks spread low, falling over the soft lines of her neck and breasts, and the maddening heat of her pelvis as it pressed against his own. She was soft and hot, and yielding in his arms, enswathing him in lush femininity and latent promise, and Edward itched with the desire to kiss her again, to tear her shirt the rest of the way down, to rip off all their clothing, to claim the rest of her naked skin with his mouth, and his body, his and his alone.

But night, along with the snow, was falling fast, the orange and golden flames of the sunset extinguished by the dropping snow, and so Edward contented himself with pressing his lips softly, once against hers, and once on the flushed skin just above her breasts, before he pulled the ragged ends of her shirt closed. He let his fingers rest for a moment over the arch of her collarbones, feeling them tremble with subtle rise and fall from the heavy vibrations of her heart, before closing the zip on her heavy canvas jacket. It was a benediction and a promise, a vow to continue what they had begun.

Smiling ruefully, Edward levered himself gently to his feet, guiding Bella carefully up along with him. She seemed deflated now, her whole body seeming to sag with exhaustion, but her eyes were bright and alert, as she fixed him with a steady gaze, and her voice, when she spoke, was soft, and smooth, albeit somewhat wry in its sentiment:

"Let's get me back to civilization. It's fucking freezing out here, and I seem to have ripped my only shirt."

Edward wanted to laugh at the oddity of his situation as he easily shouldered Bella's overnight pack, and picked up the shotgun from where it laid – the world's most perfect predator, carrying a twelve gauge through a forest completely devoid of threat. He slung her bag onto his back as easily as he had once done with her, as he would never dream to do again. Though through her humanity she remained physically frail, this new Bella was far too dignified, too strong, to be tossed about like a piece of baggage. And Edward was enough in awe of her to feel deserving of the bolt of heaven that would surely crash down upon him should he dare to trespass upon her exaltedness.

Instead, he forwent the lightning curse and took her hand, slipping his arm around hers and pulling her close to his side. For all that she appeared exhausted, Bella was surprisingly sure on her feet, treading softly and steadily by him, her fingers resting, feather-light, in his chilled grasp. Edward did his best to chafe them against his palm, feeling all the while, a slight subterranean shiver from deep within her.

Arm in arm, they walked back down to the rented cabin, utterly silent except for the odd dry sound of their booted feet as they stepped upon the new fallen snow. He did not regret her slow, human pace as they hiked down the darkening hillside, leaving the marble corpse of Icarus in the clearing behind them, but instead delighted in it, knowing that, at least for now, she had returned to walk beside him, to be the unwitting light in his life of darkness.

Edward started a fire while Bella showered off the grime of the last five days, warming his body against the crackling flames as they bathed the unlit room in a warm smoky glow. He turned when she emerged from the bathroom in a puff of steam, wearing only the thick lodge robe, her wet hair falling about her in Gorgon's locks, and the light shone briefly behind her, showering her rosy flesh with a golden cast, before she switched it off, dropping them both into the pleasant winking shadows of the firelight.

He went to her then, cautiously gathering her against him, as though her rinse in the scalding water had washed away the progress they had made, but Bella slipped her arms willingly around his anxious body, breathing a grateful sigh as she rested her cheek against his breastbone. She was still overwarm from the shower, her skin burning with latent heat, and he could feel himself begin to soften against her.

Suddenly she pulled back, pressing her palms flat on his chest, and looked up at him, her eyes not quite meeting his in the shifting shadows, but focusing somewhere in the neighborhood of his forehead. Trapped against her mesmerizing warmth, and the softness of her gaze, he was unable to look up himself. Bella's brown eyes were deep and unfathomable, and Edward was struck once again with the conflicted desire to both fall down and worship her, and tear the flimsy hotel robe off her and ravish her with his own lust.

Bella unwittingly broke the spell herself, her face splitting into a very undignified and patently mortal grin, as she reached up past his curious eyes and pulled out a fairly large and rather colorful clump of lichen out of his hair.

"Bringing home the whole forest, Edward?" Bella plucked a twig from the uncertain grasp of his disheveled locks.

Nonplussed, he finally relinquished his grasp on her shoulder, and ran an embarrassed hand through where her fingers had just been, feeling a rather remarkable accumulation of forest material.

"If I were a botanist I'd be shaking your head out over some slides right now," Bella's dark eyes crinkled up at him, her face wide and open, and Edward found himself trapped in her expression, falling into it as though he would drown. It was a real smile – the first real smile she had given him since they had been so abruptly reunited, and it transformed the now angular lines of her heart shaped face, softening her cheeks, her full lips quirking upwards at him. The sight of it took his breath away, for she was so beautiful, shining at him with a joy they had each of them rekindled, her look both human and divine, the vibrant goddess glowing within her, and the hand Edward had kept at her waist splayed reflexively against the small of her back, pressing her close, as the sudden reminiscence of a much more innocent time swept over them. Memories of a boy and a girl, awkward, anxious, and utterly infatuated with each other, fumbling through their budding courtship over a third rate microscope and some scratched slides, against the equally uncomfortable backdrop of a high school science class.

He wanted to weep then, for all they had lost, the time they had wasted – that he had wasted through his own fear. How many endless nights he could have seen that smile, could have felt his dead heart leap at the sight of that pure joy that looked up at him now.

Perhaps seeing some of that thought in his expression as he looked down at her, Bella's brow furrowed, and she gently brushed her hand over his cheek, before standing on her tiptoes and pushing the hair off his forehead. It was an altogether motherly gesture, but as the softness of her breasts rubbed against his chest, and with all her lovely round flesh pressed to him, Edward's thoughts toward her were anything but familial, and he felt every muscle in his body constrict with desire.

"Go take a shower, Edward," said Bella, brushing another bit of earthy detritus from his shoulder. "And then come to bed." She might as well have said _"Go throw yourself in the fireplace," _and Edward would just have readily complied. As it was, he felt himself nodding dumbly, her words landing in his belly like hot coals, lodging somewhere in the vicinity of his belt buckle, before his hold on her slackened, and he turned away to bathroom that she had just occupied.

It was a hotel washroom like any other, stark and sterile, but the hot steamy air of the shower smelled like soap and mineral water and Bella, and Edward was of half a mind to turn right back around and throw himself on her. He swallowed thickly, knowing that she deserved better, and undressed himself with shaking fingers. The hot water warmed him, beating softly against his hard skin and he scrubbed himself as though he could peel away those layers of himself that he did not want, scouring away the undesirable surface and exposing the new pink quick that he now knew existed beneath it.

_What would she do? What was it that she wanted?_

Edward lingered under the steaming geyser of the showerhead, unsure of what to do when he stepped back into the cool darkness of the fire lit bedroom. They had not declared themselves, there was no admission yet of love between them, and he was hesitant to act before those words were spoken. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in her touch, but he did not really know, not without a declaration, and the ambiguity was excruciating.

He had waited. A hundred years almost he had lingered on the cusp of manhood, complacent, but not really content, until Bella had torn through his existence, a burning lance into his very soul, scorching away the careful restrictions he had placed upon himself, revealing the slumbering remnants of humanity that lingered under his frozen exterior. It rumbled and roared within him now, demanding his acquiescence, and even in the face of the last vestiges of his reticence, its clamor outweighed even the smallest twinge of his unwanted inhuman instincts.

Edward leaned his head against the cool tiles of the shower as the hot water cascaded over him, feeling the warm rivulets trickle between his shoulder blades and down his back. He was conflicted, both body and mind: there were choices before the both of them that their tentative reunion had broached that remained as yet unspoken. Bella's renewed presence in his life awakened a multitude of unknowns for the both of their futures, and while Edward would love her until the stars fell, it was not an admission he could force from her though he could see the hint of it shining out through her own eyes.

He did his best not to think of Bella, lying in the cabin's four poster bed, waiting for the potentially amorous advances of her freshly showered erstwhile vampire lover. It was utterly ridiculous, but it was their reality. Sighing resignedly, he toweled himself off. The whole situation was awkward – dressing in flannel pants that he had never before needed, going to lie in the bed of the young woman his heart was irreversibly enmeshed with, to watch her sleep, and wait for the moment of resolution that might never come.

Edward almost tore the door off leaving the bathroom.

Warm shadows danced about the room, and as his eyes adjusted to the diminished light, Edward could see her lying on her back, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, hands crossed over her chest, oddly reminiscent of the posture of medieval death. She turned at the sound of him, rolling onto her side under the thick down comforter, and Edward followed the motion with his eyes, absolutely entranced as the rounded curves of her body shifted pleasantly under the blankets. They both paused for a moment, he hesitating at her bedside, and she, pliant and vulnerable beneath the sheets, their eyes meeting in a moment fraught with crackling desire and indecision, and then Bella stretched out her arms and he lifted the covers and slipped gratefully between them, drawing all of her softness and heat against him, sighing contentedly into her hair as she nestled her head into the hollow below his collarbone.

_Home,_ he breathed against her.

_Home,_ her breasts, her belly, her thighs whispered back to him, hot against his cool frame. _Home_ in her eyes, _home_ in her fingers as they slid along the muscles of his chest, _home _in her face as he lifted her chin, _home_ in her lips as they parted against his. Everything about her was home, a burning fleshly oasis in a world of loneliness and sorrow and death, and Edward gripped her, his greatest joy, firmly with both hands, knowing full well that that happiness was fleeting, that what he had lost, he could never afford to lose again.

X X X X X

Edward was kissing her, soft and gentle and innocent and sweet, the way he once had in the halcyon days of their childish romance, his lips moving slowly against hers, and Bella could feel his body tremble as they breathed softly into each other's mouths. She cupped his cheeks in her hands, feeling the smooth skin, and the muscles in his jaw as they pulled and flexed, soothing him, holding him, as the warm tide of desire and longing swept through her.

It was as though a bubble filled her breast, swelling in her lungs, pushing against her ribs, finally welling up into her throat and choking her as Edward's lips brushed tenderly against her own. And suddenly her eyes were filling with tears, great brimming drops of them, spilling down over her cheeks, into their mouths and onto their tongues salt and sweet together.

"_I missed you,"_ Bella whispered to him once again. _"I missed you," _against his lips. _"I missed you," _into the wary wilderness of his coppery hair, her tears baptizing them both, blessing them with the joy that poured, unchecked, from her heart, a great torrent from what had once been a gaping, purulent wound, that was now the epicenter of her healing.

"Don't cry, Bella," Edward's expression was pained. "Please don't cry."

He pulled her ever closer, his hands sliding in comfort and supplication against her, murmuring soothing sounds upon her lips while she shuddered against him, overwrought, and overcome.

"I'm not crying," Bella managed at last, hating the look of sadness and doubt that marred Edward's smooth features. "Not really. It's just . . . my heart is too full."

_I love you._

She did not say it; and as yet she could not. But her face could speak the words her mouth failed to frame, and the words shimmered on the air between them.

Their eyes met, golden and umber, molten and liquid in the light of the fire, shining with affirmation, and Edward's mouth was on hers again, rough and exultant, his breaths shuddering against her chest, until they were both panting and gasping like marathoners, as they raced, lips and hands and tongues together, toward the burning fire of their united hearts as it threatened to consume them.

Never had immolation seemed a more joyous occasion.

"_God, Edward,"_ Bella gasped through the fullness that constricted her chest, feeling his long fingers trace the arch of her ribs, his palms flat against the raging inferno that seemed to have replaced her belly.

His lips moved in a slow smile against hers, as his thumbs moved over her night shirt in gentle circles on the sensitive skin just beneath her breasts, but his eyes were dark and serious as he held her to him.

"I hope this means what I think it means," Edward's voice was rough, raw with desire, resonating deep and compelling against her. "Because I am never letting you go."

Bella took his words on her lips and in her heart, sliding her hands over his cheeks and into his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers, giving him her affirmation before the silent sleep of exhaustion overtook her.

"I never want to run again."

**I love as always to hear from you - sometimes it's the only thing that keeps me going. If I am ever remiss in responding, feel free to slap me around on the Twilighted forum. I am known to play over there.**


	22. ShangriLa

**Here it is, I'm alive, I swear it! Thank you all who have stuck with me, waiting ever so patiently. Hopefully this lives up to your expectations.**

**Once again I want to thank all of you who have taken the time to review, though I have not been able to reply, they are greatly appreciated, and, at times, have been one of the only things keeping me going.**

**I would be grossly remiss if I did not thank all of you kind folk who have PM'd me your good wishes while this story languished during my long and arduous stint of student teaching. Y'all were the light at the end of that tunnel, let me tell you!**

**And now, at last, I am free. Enjoy.**

She did not know this new Edward, this dark stranger from her dreams who kissed the breath out of her while she arched and sighed against him, possessing her body with barely a touch, his long and usually nervous fingers resting teasing and deliberate, on the sensitive skin just below her swollen breasts – confident and sure and full of the promise of earthly sinful delight. His lips commanded hers, splitting them, smooth and ripe and forbidden fruit, his for the tasting, and her newly awakened body bowed in acquiescence to his, pressing against him until she could barely breath, feeling the shuddering of his own uneven breaths in her belly, deep and aching between her thighs.

The sensations swirled within her, roaring madly through her veins, demanding more, always more, driving her against him, clawing and desperate, for something, for _him, _until they neither of them could take any more, and Edward jerked away, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder, his palms flat against the sheets on either side of her, breathing hard and fast and shallow with desire.

She tightened her arms around him, straining his shuddering frame against her own. At long last he stilled, swallowing thickly, before letting out a hollow chuckle.

"You're stronger than I remember."

Bella felt her lips curl with a small smile.

"You're softer," she whispered letting her fingers curl in the downy soft hair at the nape of his neck, feeling that strange springy resistance as they just barely pressed into his cool skin, and she felt the rumble of Edward's rueful laugh resonate in her own chest.

Her memories of him did not do him justice. He was still the same, long, lithe framed young man, his shoulders broad, his hips narrow, his very bones strapped together with the smooth, sinewy whipchord thin muscles of a runner. His body bore the loose knit lines of perpetual youth, but his bearing was strong, radiating a newfound sort of adult, masculine confidence.

She hadn't thought it possible that he could change, his countenance set in stone. He was still the same in essentials – his hair, his face, the small bump in his nose, the one eyebrow just a fraction higher than the other, but the odd energy that was neither blood nor pulse vibrating under his skin – it was that tension, that strange energy that made his cool, extraordinarily firm skin seem rock hard. His very being thrummed with that strange fission, as though he were both perpetually moving, and preternaturally still. But somehow, impossibly, he was different. The hungry, haunted look she had come to know all those years ago was gone, replaced by a look of determination and resolve that she did not recognize. It made him look older, dangerous, but not deathly so, in a way that made all her skin tingle and come alive, drawing her to him in a way his predatory allure never could.

Bella couldn't help herself. She let her hands slide from his chest, slackening their hold on the white cotton shirt he had worn to bed, allowing them to slide down his torso, feeling the broad span of his ribs, the tightening of his stomach as her fingers trailed across it, and down, holding his eyes all the while – wide, golden, burning with amazement and discovery.

She heard Edward suck in a shaky breath as her tentative touch whispered on the sharp outcropping of his hipbones, the slight indentation that dipped between them and into his pelvis, and then slid softly under the material of his shirt, skin to skin. Slowly, gingerly, she flattened her palms against his abdomen, feeling him tremble under her touch as she let her hands traverse up over the sensitive skin, and splay starfish like over his chest, her thumbs circling his nipples as they pricked with desire.

His eyes seemed to glow in the darkness for a moment before his eyelids swept closed, his lashes dark smudges against the paleness of his cheeks and he roughly, abruptly pulled her close, fisting one hand in the back of her oversized shirt, and buried his face in her neck. Bella shivered as his cool breath whispered against her, making all the hairs of her body lift with crackling electricity and her fingers clenched against his cool skin. She arched against him as he kissed her throat with an open mouth, and he gently rolled her beneath him on the bed, his knee slipping insistently between her thighs, and her whole body tightened.

His touch ignited her, burned her, and dimly through the roar of pulsing blood and heat and _Edward_ Bella wondered when she had ever been so foolish to think him cold. She could feel the fire of his lips against her skin, the blaze of his tongue against the hollow of her throat, the warm press of his torso against her flushed and aching breasts, the flaming brand of his hips as they settled between her legs. He consumed the dry tinder of her wanting flesh, stripping the will from her bones, and she shimmered in his arms.

Air.

There was no air.

Only Edward, and fire, and the smoke of their breaths between them.

She bowed, she soared, she twisted like kindling in an inferno of sensation.

She . . . yawned right in his ear.

Instantly, with the finality of a thunderclap, they fell back to earth, breathless and gasping, and Edward raised an inscrutable face to gaze at Bella as she gaped at him in mortification. Sexually inexperienced though she was, Bella had enough sense to realize that one did not do such things to their lover in the heat of the moment, as it were, especially not one as prone to self recrimination as Edward no doubt still was.

_Bad form, Bella._

For a few heartbeats they held each others' gaze, Edward's normally eloquent features as still and smooth as the stone he seemed to be made of, while Bella mentally slapped herself as the silence roared around them.

And then he laughed.

Edward _laughed_.

He pressed his forehead against her collarbone and howled, choked and fizzed, his hard chest bumping against hers, and then Bella was laughing, too, grabbing onto his shirt, his hair, his arms as she giggled and guffawed, tangling ever further into his embrace.

It was new – the joy, the laughter, the soulful relief of their reunion, and they clung to one another, delighted, youthful and vibrant and alive.

"_Shit_, Edward." Bella managed at last, scrubbing a hand across her streaming eyes. "I'm sorry –"

Edward rose above her on one elbow, looking into her face a moment, before leaning down to wipe a stray tear from her cheek with the collar of his shirt.

"Don't be." His voice was soft, calm, and his eyes were light and unconcerneed as he met her gaze directly, tracing her brow gently with his fingertips. "I'm the one who should be apologizing – you're exhausted."

Bella grimaced. The throbbing adrenaline that had driven her body so surely against him had guttered and dimmed, leaving her leaden and deflated, ready to drop like a stone through the soft mattress. She knew Edward could see it as his eyes followed her features like a second pair of hands.

Gently, he smoothed the still damp hair from her brow, before placing a soft kiss against it.

"Sleep, Bella," he whispered. "The rest can wait, at least for one night."

She tried to protest, but the words died on her lips as he pressed one finger censoriously against them.

"Sleep," Edward murmured again. "Sleep . . . and dream for both of us."

X X X X X

Her first sensations were of both cool and soft, warmth and heaviness wrapped around her. She woke to a bright beam of sunlight glowing off the far wall, illuminating a sea of tumbled white sheets and downy blankets, and a pale white arm, now warm from the heat of her body, draped over her ribs, as she lay curled on the bed, her body turned to face the still form next to her.

_Edward._

Edward now lying on his side, facing her, eyes closed, with a look of beatific contentment on his usually strained features, their joined hands laying between them amidst the rumpled sheets. Bella couldn't help but smile looking at him – he looked so absolutely young and innocent, burrowed under the heavy comforter, his ruddy hair forming some sort of odd architectural protrusion as he nestled among the pillows. He looked _different?_ now, there was an odd restfulness to his face, almost as if he were sleeping alongside her.

When they had shared a bed before, Edward had always seemed somehow awkward – an amalgamation of joints and parts and anxiety strewn haphazardly yet oddly rigid in an unnatural facsimile of repose. She had been too besotted with him then to be truly aware of that odd tension, her senses deafened by the roaring desire coursing through her eager and inexperienced teenage body. It was different now. Years of solitude and observation, and being that same anxious, sleepless form wary of the dreams and darkness laying in her own bed had made it easy for her to recognize the unease in the Edward of her memory, and to make the absence of that restless energy all the more apparent.

Lying with that Edward now would have been like going to bed with a bird's nest made out of dynamite, all sharp ends and ready to explode.

This new Edward was soft and decadent and warm and inviting, his long limbs tangled with hers amid the sheets, his one arm around her keeping them close, and Bella felt her heart swell almost to bursting, knowing that he was hers, that he had chosen her.

She lay there for a moment delighting in just watching him, allowing herself the brief luxury of forgetfulness, pretending that their bed was an island, shielding them both from responsibility and reality; and that their joined hands were the only anchor they ever needed in the inexorable tide of inevitability.

Gingerly, as though afraid she might wake him, she reached out a tentative hand, tracing the smooth line of Edward's brow, marveling at the thick fan of his eyelashes against his pale skin. They were dark – darker than his hair – and almost girlishly long set in the rather severe symmetry of his face.

Up to his hairline, across to the center of his forehead, and back out, almost to his ears she let her fingers learn again the physical landscape she had once known so well. And still his eyes remained hidden; and she couldn't help but wonder.

How much had those eyes seen? How much had they fallen closed against? Could she bear such a thing herself?

As a young girl, it had been easy to be swept away with the heady tide of first love and unrequited lust and tell herself she would endure anything for the chance at an eternity in his arms. Now she was not so sure. Even with his renewed promise to never let her go, Edward's earlier defection had destroyed that certainty, and the life she had built without him had no latitude for such paltry things as sudden immortality and unquenchable bloodlust.

It was one thing to get carried away in the darkened solitude of the night full of whispered promises and smooth sheets, burning as she was with an almost habitual longing and primal desire. It was quite another to see it in the light of day, as the brightness prized into the flawed reasoning that had once led her to embrace that life – the life that had so very nearly torn her apart. In the daylight it was a small and ugly thing, that need to belong, to be _wanted_, and for once, Bella was ashamed of the pressure her teenage self absorption had placed on Edward, and, indeed, on all of the Cullens.

And she squirmed, thinking of the conversation she had had with Emmett in the clearing, next to the body of her dead buck.

"_You should have fought for me,"_ she had told him. As if she were some sort of prize, as if deigning the family with her mortal presence was some sort of gift. Once again, in her mind's eye she saw Emmett's large, powerful hands awkwardly twisting a length of dry scrub grass, sadness and longing so thick in the air between them that she could almost taste it. Sorrow for Emmett, trapped as Edward, in a life of brutality and self loathing and undying death, and a painful yearning for what might have been, for the innocence of those days, when a kiss and a bite seemed really not all that different, and the road before her was clear and wide and open.

_I should have fought for myself. For Edward. For all of them._

She would fight now, but for what she was as yet uncertain.

It had been so easy all those years, to hide behind the anger and the pain; but now with Edward lying next to her in a bed in a snowed in cabin nestled in the Canadian wilderness, wrapped in his arms, draped with lust and desire, and bone deep longing, her path was shrouded with uncertainty, as if she truly _had_ leapt into the clouds as she ran down the misty mountainside.

But she did not get the chance to be carried away again in the fears and self doubt, as the eyes belonging to the Cullen in question flitted open and Edward's still form shivered and came to life, and he stretched, catlike, letting his lanky frame arch against her, dragging his toes down the length of her shins.

The corners of his mouth quirked impishly at her, and as Bella let her surprised fingers drop away, he caught one between his lips, flicking his tongue lightly against the tip before releasing it with a kiss. His eyes met hers, light and innocent, and then Bella let out a very undignified yelp as he rolled her under him on the bed, his body shaking with silent laughter as he nuzzled her deep into the soft mattress beneath them.

X X X X X

Sometime later they resurfaced, the light of day now dim and pale, touching regretfully on the windowsill, and no farther. After the flurry of wordless teasing and tickling – the hollow indentations next to Edward's hipbones made him squawk like an angry hen when she dug her thumbs into them – had subsided into soft sighs and slow, burning kisses, Bella found herself once again drowsing peacefully in his arms, the world around them contracted into the tiny bubble of the cabin, and the warm tangle of their bodies beneath the blankets, finally able to relax, to release herself from the regret and the pain, the impossible walls she had built to protect her frightened, bleeding heart.

She reveled in the sensation, luxuriating in the dissipation of the weight of her myriad defenses, the needless guilt and ever present fear, and the exhaustion inherent in pushing her body beyond the limits human capability as it finally caught up to her; and Edward breathing quietly by her side was the only anodyne her wounded and aching spirit had ever required. It was enough for now, as he kissed her until she was breathless, her body wound around him like the smooth white sheets on the bed, holding her close as she softened with languorous delight, slipping once again into the half-waking dream world he was forever exiled from.

The room now was dim and blue, the afternoon dying with little fanfare in the smothering curtain of continually falling snow, and once again the room began to glow, rose and gold from the meager, dancing light of the small fireplace. Its traced flickering shadows on the walls and in the rumpled sheets on the large fourposter bed, catching the bared limbs and searching eyes in its warm embrace. Edward was somehow missing his shirt, his pale skin limned in the firelight as he lay back against the pillows with Bella absently tracing the dusting of faded freckles on his bare shoulder as he cradled her against his chest.

"What were you doing earlier?" she asked softly, her voice thick with sleep.

"Mmm?" Edward's nose was buried in her hair, blocking his face from her, but she could still feel the uncomfortable stiffening of his body, as though she had caught him in the act of something shameful.

"When I woke up," she prodded. "You looked like you were sleeping . . . "

_And we both know you can't,_ she didn't finish. The barriers of their differences had been ignored thus far, and she did not relish the idea of bringing them back up, but she _was_ curious, and Edward had been gone for so very long. Really, she was desperate to know him, to remember him, to _see_ him for the first time with her new eyes unclouded by the childish fears and misconceptions that had haunted her for so very long.

"Oh, umm," Edward met her gaze then, looking sheepish, and she had to strain her ears to hear what he said next. "I was pretending," he muttered, biting his lip, as his eyes slid away from hers. If he were still able to blush, Bella was fairly certain he would have – as it was, Edward's face pinched in awkward discomfort, his nose wrinkling in abject consternation. He looked as though he wanted to shrink into the mattress.

Bella cocked a curious eyebrow at him, grabbing his chin to force him to look at her.

"Pretending what?"

Edward shifted his shoulders, squirming against her, and Bella repressed the urge to fling her thigh over his hips. It would still him, momentarily at least, but it would also incite something else, and while her body clamored for his, strong and ardent and urgent against hers, the prospect of solving the mystery of his mind, of all the hidden parts of him made her stop, and so she settled instead for gently prodding his lower lip with her thumb, compelling him to speak.

For a long moment the silence stretched out between them, as a multitude of thoughts shimmered shifted across his face until, finally, Edward closed his eyes, and whispered, "I don't remember what it was like to dream from before . . . and, I thought . . . if I could pick one thing to dream, that this would be it." His hand sought hers out amid the muddle of bedding. "So I pretended I was sleeping, and that this was a dream, because in all my life this is the best day I have ever had, and I never want it to end." He quickly dipped his head and kissed the inside of Bella's palm. "If this is all I ever get to have, I want to remember every second of it."

_Oh._

And the pale ghost of daylight died around them, leaving them once again trapped in the amber glow of the crackling fire, their joined shadows dancing against the wall, a fleeting tapestry in the permanent night.

X X X X X

Sometime after nightfall the unavoidable limitations of Bella's humanity had finally manifested itself in a rather earth shattering rumble from her now exceedingly empty stomach. Not feeling inclined to venture forth from their tiny haven, she instead opted to call down to the village for delivery, and within the hour was sitting nestled between Edward's spread legs on the bed, happily feasting on chicken fettuccini brought to her, still steaming, via a teenager on a snowmobile.

Edward hovered behind her shoulder as she ate, wearing a corner of the bedspread over his bare shoulders like a cape, the anxious periscope of his muddled hair rising above the whole ruffled mess to inspect the foreign activity as it unfolded before him.

Feeling his eyes boring into the back of her neck, Bella finally turned, wiping a bit of alfredo sauce from her lip as she did so.

"You're as bad as Jake, you know that?"

She couldn't help but smile as Edward's eyes widened in innocent confusion.

"My dog, Jake," she elaborated. "God help me if he sees me with a fork. Doesn't matter if he's still got his own food in his mouth – whatever I've got has to be ten times better and damn it if he isn't going to find out." Bella tapped Edward on the nose. "Now here you are doing the same thing, lurking after my dinner."

_At least you haven't tried to stick your nose in my crotch._

She blushed at the thought, and popped another piece of chicken in her mouth to hide her discomfort. Edward, too self conscious to notice, shrugged and smiled sheepishly at her, wrapping his arms carefully around her waist, mindful of the aforementioned food.

"I'm just enjoying your company," he said simply. "Besides, I can think of better things to eat." He eyed the chicken and noodle concoction with distaste.

"You're not hungry?" She looked at him closely, his expression open and guileless.

"I . . . no," Edward wrinkled his nose again. "I'm not hungry."

He gave her hips a gentle squeeze, and then shifted off the bed, ostensibly to throw more wood on the fire. The room flared in sudden daylight as he jabbed the poker through the coals, perhaps a little rougher than necessary, and he lingered for a long moment by the hearth, staring sightlessly into the formless shapes of the bright tongues of flame.

Bella finished her dinner, watching him carefully as he stood, his thumb tapping softly against the knotty pine of the mantle. There was a tension in the air now, one that had nothing to do with Bella and Edward, man and woman, but girl and vampire, innocent and damned, their combined fates blurred and shifting as the dry wood on the andirons, helpless, and ready to be consumed.

At long last he shifted, placing the poker carefully back in its place, his golden eyes blazing as he turned to face her, and Bella blinked, momentarily blinded by the intensity of his gaze.

His face was in shadow as he returned from stoking the fire, the light shining behind him like a halo, glowing in the tips of his already flaming hair, outlining the broad span of his shoulders, his narrow waist. Blocking out the leaping flames, the dancing light spread out like wings around him, an avenging angel come to bed with her, his voice a beacon from the unknown in the disembodied half-light.

"What happened to you after we . . . left?"

He leaned over her, ready to spread his feathered wings, to offer her salvation in his seraphic embrace.

Captivated, Bella at first had no answer.

Dimly, she felt the bed shift with his weight as he joined her under the covers, and she leaned back against his bare chest as he wrapped his arms around her.

_And so it begins . . . _

And so she told him. Everything. About Sam Uley finding her alone and incoherent in the woods, about the blur of months that followed that even she had trouble remembering, about Jacob, about the car, about the fateful moment in the meadow when her world turned once again on its ear, as she realized that even her closest friend was nothing like he seemed. And finally she told him why she left, the moment she realized she could no longer stand living in the shadow of everyone else's pity, to exist in a place that had become a graveyard for everything she had once held dear. She told him of the long, lonely nights when she lived homeless, in the back seat of her car, working double shifts at a local bakery to pay for tuition at two different community colleges; the barred windows of her studio apartment in White Center, and the sudden relief when the university in Montana accepted her application. She told him about Jake the dog, her hard won degree, her Master's interview, and finally stopping when she met Dr. Reyerson, the catalyst, her hero, the reason why the two of them were finally together, reliving her sordid painful history, snowbound in the Canadian Rockies.

Edward sat stoically behind her all the while, his long fingers tracing gently in soothing patterns on her shoulders, down her arms. But Bella's eyes were surprisingly dry, her voice clear and calm.

"I'm not sorry for that life anymore," she said softly, as if answering that unspoken question. "I should thank you, really, for what you did. Granted it was the most cruel thing you could ever do," _and the stupidest,_ she did not add. "But I never would have known . . ." she broke off for a moment, turning to look up at him. "What kind of parent would let their child go? And never look for them? My mother I could understand, she could barely find her car keys on a good day, let alone remember she had a daughter. But my father? He was chief of police for Christ's sake! If anyone could have found me . . . but he never did."

_He never even tried._

Even now, the thought of it made her throat swell, and her eyes burn. The idea that she was disposable, expendable seemed shameful somehow; as if she were so genetically deficient that her parents, her own flesh, and blood rejected her.

_Flesh and blood,_ she repeated to herself, looking distastefully at the web of veins that sprung out on her hands, the living testament to her disgrace.

"_I don't know, Bella,"_ Edward whispered sadly, his arms tightening around her. _"I don't know."_

And she did cry then, for the girl she was, the daughter she had never been, a stranger walking through the world of the living, a ghost in everything but body, seeking comfort from the undead. From Edward, who was now holding her against the cool skin of his bare chest, rocking her until her shuddering sobs subsided, murmuring wordless sounds of reassurance in her unbound hair; Edward who had, in a single moment of sheer brilliant idiocy, ripped the curtain away from the murkiness around her, and exposed her parents for the fallible and selfish creatures she had never suspected them to be.

Watching her then best friend sprouting four legs and hair could only be considered a bonus after that, she supposed dryly, wiping her eyes on Edward's discarded shirt.

"That's why I got Jake," she murmured at last. "And why I joined the Wolf Study. Because with Jake, and with them, there was never any question of where I stood, or what my place was, and that was the kind of belonging I could understand."

And then she blushed so hotly she was surprised she didn't actually start glowing like the embers in the fireplace as she realized she would have to tell him the final, and most secret motivation for her study.

"I never expected to see you again . . . but, running with the wolves out in the back country, I could at least pretend that someday, I might . . . accidentally . . . find one of you." She fiddled with the torn collar of the white shirt that draped in her lap. "I couldn't let myself think of you, but I could be close to you there . . . the memory of you."

_Just like you, I, too, can pretend to dream._

For unlike Edward she had the luxury of dreams, but they had not always been kind; and sharing her waking hours with the simple minds of a wolf pack that would never judge her for her lost love had been the only solace she could find in a world that had turned its collective back on her.

"You did literally throw me to the wolves, you know."

Edward snorted lightly at the horrible cliché, but it was a sad sound, one that acknowledged the real truth to what she was saying.

"I thought you would at least be safe with them," he said at last, as they ventured into the territory that they neither of them wanted very much to discuss. "That they could protect you if any _thing_ came looking for you."

_Which leads me to you._

Bella shifted then, so she was no longer twisted against Edward's chest, but sitting sideways between his spread legs, her own legs draped across one of his thighs, and stared directly up at him.

"Something did come back, Edward. One of _them. _That's how I found out about the, um, other wolves." She shivered at the memory, the deep red eyes, pulsing with living blood, that fixed her, paralyzed her, the sibilant sensual voice that undressed her in the wilderness, the vicious snarls, and the inhuman shrieks of the dying undead, the unrealized promise of her own destruction.

"What ever happened to the other one? To Victoria?" The name tasted funny. Stale almost, as if it had aged poorly in the recesses of her memory. Leaving Forks with the prospect of a vengeful vampire on her heels had been a poor choice in retrospect, but after the Quiliutes had dispatched Laurent, no sign of the woman who had masterminded her thwarted execution had ever surfaced. "She never found me."

Once again, Edward wrinkled his nose, and for once Bella envied his inability to blush. If she had thought her face was burning, Edward was no doubt an inferno from the look of discomfort that rippled across his face.

"And she never will," his voice had an air of finality to it, and something else.

_Guilt?_

_No._

_Shame._

"You didn't –" Edward stilled her lips with a gentle finger.

"No. I didn't." His eyes met hers, their golden hue tarnished, dimmed and sad. "Alice killed her."

**I hope this was worth the wait. **

**Thank you all again. Though I can't always reply, I would be lying if I didn't say your input is part of the driving force that writes this story. Feel free, as always, to come play on the Twilighted forums. **

**Reviews are like the last day of school, or for me, the last day of student teaching.**


	23. Intermission: Electrocution

**Yikes! Sorry for the delay. This chapter was bloody difficult to out. I hope it's worth your patience! I'll just let you get to gettin' shall I?**

Bella was soft and warm and hotter than the fire that lit the room. He cradled her to him, fragile and precious as his body burned with shame for the sins he was about to confess.

No bed could have been a more incongruous confessional, nor the woman on his lap a more unholy confessor. Her lips were bruised and wet and swollen, her eyes wide and dilated, her thin shirt doing nothing to hide the full curves of her breasts, the rosy pinpoints of her nipples as they strained against the fabric.

He craved her absolution – to do his penance between her thighs.

Unwittingly, his breath quickened as she placed a questioning hand against his chest. Licking his lips, he gazed down at the face of his greatest temptation.

"Alice killed her," he whispered, feeling his insides clench with shame.

Tiny, vicious Alice, vengeful and avenging; sailing into the breach when he could not.

"She did it to keep you safe, of course. She loved – loves you, truly. But mostly, I think, she did it for Jasper."

The memory resurfaced then, as he told her. It had happened just after Bella had disappeared. Edward had just returned from his desperate and futile search for her whereabouts. The journey had left Edward lost and confused, and utterly desolate, while the haunting images of the Bella he had left, broken and alone, replayed over and over in his mind to the unforgiving soundtrack of her father's shouted accusations.

He had returned to the home the family shared in Sitka, hoping for solace, and had found anything but.

X X X X X

It was near mid June, and the marine layer hung sullenly in the sky, refusing to break against the valiant effort of the sun. To Edward it seemed fitting, caught as he was in the fog that would never lift, his very consciousness steeped in the gray, muted pallor of despair.

His return to Forks in search of Bella's whereabouts had been an utter failure. He had hoped for nothing more than the chance to throw himself – literally or metaphorically, it didn't matter which anymore – at her feet and beg for her forgiveness, to show her that the shattered broken look he had seen on her face that day in the woods was an exact mirror for the condition of his own soul without her.

But she was gone.

Vanished.

As if _she_ had never existed.

Laying on the ground in a stunned heap after Charlie had tossed him bodily off the porch, Edward had been shocked by the thoughts that had fairly thundered out of the older man's mind. In her father he had found the all too predictable, and well deserved ire towards the damn fool boy who had broken his daughter's heart, and whose departure had no doubt resulted in her own. But Edward had also heard amidst the accusations streaming unfiltered through Charlie's head that he felt a strange hint of something like _relief? _that the somber, inscrutable creature who had struggled to call him "Dad" had finally removed the last vestiges of parental responsibility from him. As her father, he had tried to love her, to take care of her, but he could not understand her, and the near fugue state in which she had existed under his roof those many months after Edward's departure had only further emphasized his own inadequacies as a parent.

Bella's leaving him, embarrassing as that had been, had also absolved him of his self doubt, as she had reduced herself to a statistic he, in his policeman's mind could understand: a rebellious, runaway teen, redeemable by no one, and worthy only of dismissal.

Thus Charles Swan was angry, but only insofar as it absolved him from any blame.

The thought of it made Edward sick.

He wanted to believe that he had made the right choice, that in leaving Bella he had ensured that she would be loved, and protected, and would live out her life to its natural conclusion without any of his interference.

Now, he was not so sure.

Equally disturbing was the cryptic text he had received on the ferry back to Sitka.

_Look to your pet. Laurent has broken with the clan._

That Laurent had neither remained abstinent was not surprising to Edward. Nor was his departure from Denali several months earlier that great of a shock. Being a mind reader was not even a necessity in understanding that the older man had been too accustomed to satisfying his baser urges for too long to do more than dabble in their lifestyle for a time in exchange for a woman to share his bed.

It was that first injunction, along with the rupture with the Denalis and implications it held for the Cullen family at large that frightened him.

_Look to your pet._

_Pet._

_Human._

_Bella._

Panicked, and of half a mind to jump over the side and swim back to Forks, he had tried to calm himself by calling every number he knew, starting with Alice.

She did not answer. Nor did anyone at the house in Sitka. Or Denali.

Frantic, he dialed the hospital, only to discover that Carlisle was in surgery and unavailable. The detached female voice at the other end of the line offered to take a message just before his clenched fist turned the phone to dust.

It was then that the pale sun finally broke through the stubborn gray ceiling of the clouds, effectively trapping him in the tinted confines of the Volvo.

Cursing in frustration at perhaps his most ridiculous immortal handicap, Edward was forced to wait out the final minutes of the ferry ride and debark like any normal passenger.

Traffic laws, however, were below such consideration.

In no time he was recklessly steering his car up the winding track that served as their driveway on the outskirts of the Alaskan wild. Such was his state that he barely noticed the faint, sickly sweet odor of venom as it crept into the Volvo, until it was almost overwhelming, even though all the windows were closed. Pulling to the end of the drive he could see Alice's Audi, skidded to a haphazard stop in front of the detached garage – a great gouge in the driver's side door where a careless hand had slammed it too roughly, the multitude prisms of the now shattered window glass glinting in the cool light, reflecting nothing, revealing nothing as car sat resignedly in the gravel drive, sadly exhaling the acrid scent of burned rubber and over-revved engine.

The odor from the ruined car was almost as strong as the cloying perfume of the poison that pricked in his own throat. Almost but not quite: it hung in the air around him, a foul, almost tangible menace, tainting the peaceful solitude with the inevitable violence of their damned race, now apparently come home to roost in the home that was their last defense against their own monstrous nature.

Terrified, his eyes swept the property. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. The house stood, calm and serene as always against the stark green background of the rugged pines. From the rocky borders, the muted colors of Esme's "winter garden" stared up at him, knowing and secretive.

All was silent.

No bird, nor bee nor branch moved in the pale sunshine.

Around him the stillness waited, looming over Edward's shoulder until the wan rays of the northern sun caught and flared on the path in front of the house; and his breath stuttered, as he gazed, horrified at the winking, glittering light that came from none of the crushed granite on the ground before him.

Tiny pools of something – that insidious liquid – sparked up at him from the gravel walk, and a great smear of it marked the frame of the _open _front door.

Blood, but not blood. The only living thing in their bodies produced, spilled now in an unknown sacrifice, as though it could ward off the evil that surrounded them, the evil that Edward knew he had, in his own fallible idiocy, brought upon them.

For he was no Moses, leading his family out from under the yoke of prejudice and servitude, having instead levied them with the burden of his personal exile, the self hatred that had governed his own life for the better part of a century.

And for the first time in those near hundred years, Edward Cullen found himself starting to pray.

_Angel of Death, take me, the first born, for I am not worthy of your clemency._

He bolted out of the car, snapping the key off in the ignition as he did so. For a moment, Bella and Forks and the whole mess was forgotten.

_Please God, not them, too._

Bursting into the house, his senses exploded with the overwhelming aroma of spilt venom, and the silent shrill screaming of someone else's memory. Two voices – indistinct, and overwrought, rising together in an agonized cacophony that fairly brought him to his knees. And then he almost did fall as he slipped on another pool of venom on the bare oak floor.

The flat of his palm slapped with a resounding crack against the floor as he struggled to keep his footing, the wind of his passage wafting a fresh wave of scent into his nostrils, and he could feel the terror and apprehension welling up in his own chest, rising in his throat to choke him as he recognized who it was that was not bleeding.

_Alice._

Dimly he heard soft women's voices in the far corner of the house, and gathering himself, he flung his desperately fearful body down the darkened hallway.

Bursting through the doorway, he was not prepared for the scene before him. Alice and Esme stood before the giant picture window in Carlisle's study, facing each other, their bodies framed in the sickly light as they looked down at something the smaller woman cradled in her hand. Their backs were partially turned to him, and although he knew they were aware of his presence, they did not acknowledge it.

Once again, the still air roared, as both their voices remained silent.

Finally, Esme drew Alice into her arms, embracing her as only a mother could, planting a soft kiss in her oddly disordered hair.

Alice, for once in her neat and meticulously well dressed life, was filthy. Her clothes hung in muddy tatters off her slight frame, and her usually spiky hair lay flat against her scalp in matted clumps.

At long last, Esme released her smaller charge, squeezing her narrow shoulders once more, murmuring softly, "I'll call Carlisle," before walking in her usual calm collected fashion out the door of the study, sidling by Edward as he lurked in the doorway, needlessly out of breath, sparing him an opaque glance as she stepped past him into the hallway.

All the while, their minds revealed _nothing._

Edward stepped uncertainly into the room, sick with trepidation. Alice flinched visibly at the sound of his footstep, her abrupt movement rendering the scent of venom once again overwhelming. He could see now, the faint trembling in her shoulders as she was framed in the bright light from the enormous window. And suddenly the screaming started again; high and female, wild and desperate, pleading and maniacal, and utterly unfamiliar.

He was by her side in an instant.

"_Alice."_

She was shaking now, her whole body consumed with it, her hands fisted against her belly, one wrapped protectively around the other as she turned to him.

The sound of dripping venom was terrifying against the slick wood floor.

Her eyes were completely black, feral and void as they stared up at him.

"_Alice," _he whispered again, not daring to touch her. _"What happened?"_

Desperately he searched her face, hoping for any sign, any clue that might tell him why another woman's voice wailed unintelligibly in his mind, why Alice stood before him, smeared in dirt and grime and dripping venom from an unseen wound, wild and unfamiliar and utterly silent.

"Please," he begged. _"Please."_

Something flickered in the silent mask, and the grim lines of Alice's porcelain face began to move, as her pupils finally started to contract, revealing a tiny rim of dirty bronze around their fathomless depths.

Slowly, she unclenched her hands, pulling them away from her rumpled clothing with the sticky sound of tearing paper. One hand remained fisted, the other reached out, and grasped one of his, holding it out before him palm up, in supplication.

He did not look down, he dared not, as something soft though slick with venom dropped into his open hand. Instead his gaze remained riveted on the foreign being that stood before him, rumpled and reeking of damnation and regret.

His eyes followed Alice's as they flickered to the unknown thing that suddenly seemed to burn against his cool flesh.

It was several lengths of leather, dark and cracked with age, stitched together to form a sort of open cap, with several metal buckles holding the whole affair together. Along what appeared to be the sides were two clips and written in faded ink underneath what appeared to be a chin strap was the name _Mary Alice Brandon._

Bolts of lightning shot before his eyes the realization struck him.

_Electroshock._

_The asylum._

And then aloud, _"Jesus Christ."_

His eyes dropped, helpless, to the ruined hand that had dropped the leathern bomb into his own, as Alice's tiny, deft, mangled fingers, balled once again in a poor facsimile of a fist, weeping drops of venom all the while. With the weight of her human suffering lifted, he was finally able to see the full extent of her injury. Three of her fingers had been severed, and she clutched them desperately in her good hand, a macabre posy of undead flowers. On one of the nails the faint pink glimmer of chipped nail polish winked innocently as the dismembered fingers quivered and flexed, desperate to be reunited with their body.

"What happened?"

She did not answer.

X X X X X

Edward fumbled with the leather straps, turning them over between his fingers, as though their brittle lengths could somehow reveal how Alice had come across them, and been so grievously injured in the process.

What had she done for this horrible memento of her hidden past? Having himself looked over the haphazard charts they had unearthed in aiding Alice's quest to reveal her past, Edward had considered it a blessing that she could not remember.

It was a moment they had shared together, that horrible discovery, during the first miserable month after the family had left Forks. Alice had asked him to accompany her on her quest for her past, as Jasper had remained sequestered with the clan in Denali, refusing to believe himself capable of human interaction.

Edward knew better. Though he could not read minds, Jasper could feel the guilt that fairly poured out of his younger, senior brother; but in his shame he misinterpreted it as a projection of his own, and Edward, caught in the lies upon lies he had found himself creating to sustain his own supposed grief, had not the courage to disabuse him of that assumption.

He had been just as relieved to escape the weight of his own deception as Jasper had been for the reprieve from the emotional burden of both his brother and his wife's company. For Alice believed that she shared in Jasper's guilt, having not seen the moment until it was already before her, and she mourned doubly for Bella's loss, both as a sister, and for the part she had unwittingly played in causing Edward's sorrow.

Thus they found themselves late one night cramped in the dusty back room of the Biloxi public records office, riffling through the sealed files of a long defunct asylum. Though the building had ceased to exist many years ago – quietly closed in response to multiple complaints of malpractice, if not outright abuse, and bulldozed soon thereafter – its legacy remained, albeit forgotten, in sinister locked cabinets amidst the more mundane reports of deaths and births, of marriages made, and those that were absolved, moldering silently in manila files whose edges rippled like waves in the perpetual humidity.

It was there, in a room spongy with the damp, and literally crawling with the multitude scratchings of a veritable army of cockroaches, that they found the sad autobiography of one Mary Alice Brandon.

Abandoned by her family as a teenage girl on the doorstep of a backwater asylum like an overlarge foundling, uncared for, and utterly mad, Alice had been selected as the illicit guinea pig for the shock therapy ward in what had constituted for a mental hospital in the early nineteen hundreds. She had been electrocuted until she had broken the bones in both thighs and cracked her pelvis, and then discarded when her catatonia gave way to full fledged seizures.

Of the one who changed her, there had been no sign, only the single hint of a memory told through the halting, jerking footage that James himself had shot that day in the ballet studio.

All that remained of her past lingered in an old folio full of yellowed pages, and a series of black and white photographs showing a frail, emaciated young girl in various states of medical torment. He had wanted to destroy the records as soon as he read them over, desperate to save his almost sister from the ungodly cruelties wrought upon her human body, lest the written evidence resurrected the real memories that lurked within the careless, clinical scrawls.

But Alice had been adamant, wresting the faded material from his shaking fingers. She scanned the sheets, her eyes darkening all the while, seeing for the first time the horrors her mortal shell had endured. The paperwork scattered from her nerveless fingers as she came to the final page, and Edward knew she had found the notes he could barely stand to read.

Poor human Mary Alice, with no family to care about her, shocked beyond the limits of physical endurance, had been scheduled for a procedure many others in her situation had been unable to escape: a full frontal lobotomy.

Even if James had found her then, broken and abused as she had been, it would have been a kindness for him to kill her.

Alice looked as though she were about to be sick. In one shaking hand she clutched the last picture ever taken of Mary Alice Brandon, experimental evidence for the medical community at large to see: a young dark haired girl with wide pale, panic stricken eyes, strapped to a table as a blurred figure dressed in white attached the electrodes to the leather cap affixed to her head. Even through the graininess of the film and the faded, cracked surface of the photo paper, it was clear that she was crying.

For a long moment they stood there, looking at the final snapshot of the miserable fate that had befallen Alice in her brief, and evidently painful human life. Slowly, one of Alice's trembling fingers reached out, tracing the outline of one ashen, sunken cheek, trapped forever in the photograph in rictus of anguish and grief, her own mouth working soundlessly as she struggled to speak.

"How could they –" she broke off, looking at Edward searchingly – as though he somehow held the answer – her shoulders starting to shake as her face crumpled. "What kind of monsters would do such a thing?"

Edward had been helpless before her as she began to weep, wrapping her arms around herself as though she could somehow comfort the human body she no longer occupied.

"_She was just a little girl,"_ Alice whispered. _"Just a little girl."_

And Edward shuddered, wanting to weep himself, listening to her sobs, knowing just how cruel the world could be, little girls or no.

X X X X X

Something of that moment they had shared in the store room in Biloxi surfaced in Alice's eyes as they met his, the blackness in them swirling like the void in his own mind. With a rueful grimace she flexed the remaining fingers on her right hand, splattering fresh droplets of venom on the floor as she did so.

"Cut off a wolf's head, and it still has the power to bite." Her voice was low and dry, and it rattled in her throat, heavy with suppressed emotion.

He cocked his head at the cryptic proverb – this was no wolf they were dealing with. Alice nodded, an expression of utter savagery on her usually smooth and innocent features.

"I could offer no other trophy, not safely anyway, when she would have done the same to all of us."

_She?_

His fingers worked nervously over the bits of leather, his eyes finally catching on a long strand of fiery red hair caught in one of the metal clasps.

"_Victoria?"_

Alice nodded tersely.

And suddenly he understood it all, Alice's tearful phone call regarding Bella's disappearance; Laurent's abandonment of their way of life and the apparent breaking with the clan; and the odd text: _look to your pet_. Only the revelation of his, and Jasper's and Alice's abilities – their most closely guarded secret among their kind – would have resulted in an outright break with the Denalis; meaning that Laurent had gone to Victoria and joined her in her pursuit of vengeance for the death of James.

Starting with Edward's _pet. _

_Starting with Bella._

He gasped, choking on a horrified cry, flinging the aged bits of leather away from himself as though it had suddenly become a serpent, its hidden fangs sinking the poison of despair into his veins as this new knowledge raced to his heart.

All his efforts, his lies to Bella, to his family, to himself, had been for naught.

Death had come for her, and he had not been there to protect her.

_I failed her._

Edward groaned, feeling his knees start to buckle.

_Dear God, what have I done?_

His reverie was broken by Alice's muffled hiss as she ripped a chunk of flesh from her rapidly healing hand. She spat it on the floor, fixing him with an opaque glare.

"Don't thank me, because I didn't do it just for _her_, brother," he couldn't help but hear the bitter inflection at the simple pronoun. "I did it for my husband." Her face twisted then, almost crumpling, before the wild, vicious mask fell in place again. And softly, so that his super attenuated hearing could barely make out, _"I did it for US."_

_She wanted to burn us all. _

And then the air was filled with the throaty roar of Carlisle's AMG as it barreled recklessly up the drive, shattering the moment between them. The walls were suddenly reverberating with Carlisle's desperate baritone; and then Esme was there, whisking Alice away, leaving Edward alone in the study, the gruesome talisman of her past clutched crumpled at his feet, the air tainted with a whiff of brimstone.

X X X X X

Victoria had bitten off three of the fingers on Alice's right hand, well past the knuckle. In any other situation, the injury would have healed fairly quickly on its own, but wounds inflicted that were tainted by another vampire's venom did not regenerate as cleaner ones did, and any missing pieces had to be returned to their place "just so" in order for them to regain proper function. Alice had been unable to set the bones in her hand herself, and had resorted to picking away the healing portions of her skin while she waited for Carlisle to keep the wound from setting permanently. No doubt it had been incredibly painful, for beyond its initial paralytic function, vampire venom contained a genetic imperative that facilitated The Change, and when mixed together in what functioned as their bloodstream with venom of another it tended to create an odd sort of acidic reaction; and Victoria's had been steeped in the malice of bitterness.

Once the initial hubbub of their precipitous arrivals had died down, Carlisle had finally been able to gain access to the incredible wound left in Alice's hand. Seated in the bright light of the kitchen, the frightful, wild look she had borne was gone, replaced with the stoic, guarded, passivity she had come to adopt after they had left Bella behind. Esme had held her in her lap, gripping her arm as Carlisle poked and prodded, stroking Alice's temple with her other hand, gently working out the tangles and snarls in her short, spiky hair. It was then, as Carlisle peeled back the healing tissue and replaced her severed fingers, that Alice finally began to tell her story.

She had been catching flickering glimpses of the flame haired woman in her mind's eye since Laurent had left Denali a few months earlier. For a time they were just flashes, a jumble of unfamiliar faces and buildings, but, as the months passed, the images became clearer, and closer, until, at last, she had heard her own name pass the other woman's lips. It was then that Alice knew what Edward had finally realized that afternoon: that Victoria wished to visit her revenge upon the whole family.

Starting with Alice.

And Alice, being Alice, had risen to the occasion.

Knowing no other life than the one she had awakened to, knowing no family than the one she had found, the Cullens had no greater champion than the tiny girl that was Alice Cullen. Armed with the foreknowledge of Victoria's intent, she simply dressed one morning, sent her husband out to hunt, and then had stepped out herself calmly followed the swirl of pictures in her inner sight until she found Victoria lingering near Sitka, just outside the border in the neighboring Canadian province.

From what she could tell, Victoria had fallen victim to the passion of her vendetta, her rage making her blind to everything beyond her goal. Though she had gotten Laurent to do her reconnaissance of the Cullens' abilities, she had failed to take into account the most basic tenant of Alice's Sight: that her visions were formed by the simple intent involved in making a decision. In whispering Alice's name, Victoria had signed her own death sentence.

She had barely the chance to realize, on the old forestry road, that for her, Death drove an Audi, and wore designer jeans. For Alice had been upon her then, ferocious in her elegant loyalty, bowling her to the ground, and tearing the larger woman in half, gripping her by the shoulders and ripping her torso away seemingly through sheer force of will alone. And then had proceeded to torture her, severing her thrashing limbs with clinical efficiency and throwing them on an open pyre, indifferent to Victoria's agonized screaming. Just as human amputees could feel the aching of long lost flesh, so to could the red headed woman feel the flames rendering her undead body into ash.

_She wanted to burn us all._

It was then that Edward recognized the voice that he had heard earlier that afternoon. He had thought when Alice began her story that it was Victoria's, but as he watched the wretched woman wail in agony through Alice's memory he realized that it was hers.

"_Why are you here?"_ Her voice roared oddly in Edward's head, while the real voice of the Alice presently speaking the room subsided into an odd monotone.

"_Tell me!"her awful voice demanded. Victoria screamed something unintelligibly as Alice lit fire to her legs. "Why are you following us?"_

"She wanted to kill us, " Alice whispered dully. "All of us. For killing James."

"_Where is Bella?" She placed her foot on the writhing woman's chest, grabbing one flailing arm and twisting. More screaming rent the air, as another limb was added to the fire._

"_I don't KNOW! God, PLEASE!"_

"Bella wasn't enough. She wanted to make mementoes out of all our deaths. And give them to Bella before she killed her. So she could live for a few moments as Victoria had, knowing that everyone she had loved was now dead because of her."

"_Why are you –" and the dreadful echoing voice that rumbled out of Alice's chest fell silent as the leather cap slipped out of Victoria's tattered shirt, bringing Alice to her knees next to the mangled woman's body._

"_Oh," she breathed._

_As James' failed conquest, Alice was to be her first trophy, wearing the leather of her human bondage into the flames of her destruction._

_It was at that moment, as Alice reached for the rumpled leather artifact that Victoria struck, wrenching her limbless torso off the ground, and sinking her teeth deep into Alice's outstretched hand._

Alice had had to crush Victoria's skull in order to retrieve her severed fingers.

"I had to kill her," said Alice simply, looking down at the newly made raised silver scar that spanned the breadth of her hand and gingerly flexing her fingers. "Even without the threat to . . . her, to Bella . . . " she trailed off for a moment before squaring her shoulders and looking directly at Edward.

"What Bella did to you would say that we are monsters, that she believed we are, but she couldn't see what Victoria would have done, what James would have done, had he had time. If she could have only seen that Jasper –" her voice thickened and she choked back a sob. "But he's not – we're not – "

All he could do was stand there, frozen, as Alice's small frame trembled.

"We're not monsters, Edward," she cried, and burst into tears, sobbing pitifully while Esme clutched her in her arms.

_We are NOT monsters._

The words stuck in his ears, slipping into his mouth, sliding down his gullet, hot and shameful, filling him with the sickly ambrosia of overwhelming guilt.

He wanted to retch, to spill out the truth, that monsters did exist, that one stood in the same room and watched her weep, watched her marriage fall apart, all for a lie born out of fear; that he was a monster of the worst kind: one who committed evil by doing nothing at all, though he had every ability to comfort the agony of those he loved.

But he could not, for, being a monster, he was weak and afraid, and the words stuck in his throat.

It was then that Jasper barreled into the room, his golden eyes wide and desperate, and Alice was off Esme's lap and across the room as he fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around his tiny wife's waist, burying his head in her stomach with a choked sob of relief, as she began to cry anew.

_I didn't even get to say goodbye._

Even then, even under the weight of Edward's lie, Alice loved Bella still. The plaintive longing in those simple words was too much for his guilty conscience to bear, and so Edward turned and ran, barely making it into the woods behind the house before the violent retching knocked him to the ground, where he heaved over and over without any relief.

There would be none for him, nor would he ever deserve it.

Of that he was certain.

X X X X X.

"That was the last time I saw them, before I met you in Alaska." Edward ran a shamed hand through his hair, making the oddly shaped shadows of its outraged tendrils dance along the wall in the winking firelight. "I was too disgusted with myself, and too afraid, to live with them anymore."

Bella sat between Edward's outstretched legs, leaning back against his chest and gripping his own hands gently as they rested on her thighs.

"Alice was wrong about us not being monsters – hush, let me finish," he admonished when she turned with a ready retort. "We _are_ monsters in this world, Bella – nothing about us is natural, not me, not her, not the . . . woman who wanted to kill you. Everything about us sets us apart – our strength, our skin, our abilities. Even your canine friends are monsters by that standard." This he added with a sad smirk. "Of all of _us,_ it was Jasper who was most aware of what we really are." He sighed, plucking at the bedclothes. "Even with no human memories to remind her, Alice knows it, too, though one would never know. And she could see it weighed heavily on him, especially . . . after –" his voice cracked, rough and dry. "Her going after Victoria was her way to prove that we were still worthy of redemption, by using our . . . abilities to protect those we loved. She wanted to show Jasper that it was the _intent_ that makes someone evil, not their instincts."

"Jasper never _planned_ tokill me," Bella interjected. "I knew it was an accident. I never blamed him for a moment."

"Yes, but he didn't allow himself to believe that." Edward grimaced. "Jasper loathes himself for what he did. Even now. That's why Alice killed Victoria: to show him that despite all horrible things he thought he was, there was worse evil in our own world than he could ever imagine. And that he could be redeemed."

"Poor Jasper," Bella whispered softly. And then, fiercely, "_I'm_ _glad_. I'm _glad _it was Alice that did it."

_Oh, Alice._

The salt tang of fresh tears bit in the warm air, stinging Edward with a fresh wave of guilt.

Bella had not been spared much love in her life – and most of that conditional, but the love that Alice had had for her had been instant and unbreakable, almost as strong as his own had been; and Bella, he knew, had delighted in it, and returned the feeling in the same strength it was given.

And he had taken it away.

As if Bella could sense his shameful reticence, she abruptly cleared her throat, swiping a lingering tear from her cheek, and changed the subject.

"Speaking of . . . why couldn't Victoria find me?"

Edward sighed. Nothing about Bella had ever been simple, no matter how vehemently she had once insisted herself to be.

"I don't know," he admitted. "She lost your trail about the same time as you disappeared from Alice's sight. My only guess is your car. It _reeks_ of _wolf._"

_Even after all these years._

They both knew he was not talking about wolves of the canine variety.

"That may have been enough to mask your scent. Victoria was smart, but she was nowhere near James' caliber in terms of tracking, and since you did all of the work on the car at the reservation, she probably knew nothing about it until you were already gone."

It was the only logical conclusion he could come up with, and, judging from what Alice's own encounter with Victoria had revealed, it seemed to make the most sense.

All the same, he slid his hands up to her waist then, giving her a gentle, remonstrative shake.

"You said you spoke to Laurent? That he told you what she planned? What ever possessed you to leave knowing she was after you?"

He tightened his grip around Bella's waist involuntarily. Though Victoria's ashes had long been scattered to the four corners, the idea that anyone would willfully end the life of the woman whose mere existence encompassed the whole of his being still shook him to his very bones. The thought of living in a world without her, knowing as he now did the agony of being merely apart from her; going where he could not follow would destroy him.

"I couldn't do it anymore, Edward," she whispered softly, the gentle hum of her voice buzzing comfortably in his own chest despite the sorrow of her words. "Everywhere I turned you haunted me, every place, every _smell_ reminded me of you and it was killing me. Compared to that, the real thing didn't seem so bad."

One of the logs in the fireplace finally succumbed, crumbling into embers, bathing the room in sudden daylight as the dying sparks leapt upwards into the night.

"I had to go," said Bella again. "Otherwise I would have lost myself, trying to make everyone else happy by pretending, until I couldn't remember which was which." She sighed, shaking her head softly. "But it's done, now, Edward. And I can't live my life looking backwards."

Bella twisted her body to look up at him.

"Nor can you."

Her eyes searched his, a sad smile playing on her lips.

"I used to imagine what I would do if I saw you again. All those nights laying awake, until I thought I would go crazy for wanting you. Knowing you would never come."

The firelight caught the brimming tears in her eyes as they once again threatened to spill over, making them luminous and huge, until Edward thought he would fall into them and drown.

"I wanted to punish you Edward," she whispered. "Just like Victoria – to see you hurt as much as you hurt me."

The pause was pregnant with regret, and guilt and anger, waiting to be brought forth, desperate to be forgotten.

"But I'm not that girl anymore. And I think you were far crueler to yourself I ever could be."

Reaching up, she wound her fingers in his hair, dragging his face down to her own.

"For what it's worth, I forgive you," she breathed into his mouth. "But it's for yourself that you should be asking."

And Edward took his absolution then, tasting the lips from which it was offered, bearing their vessel down beneath him on the bed, finally ready for the moment when they would shiver asunder, rendering the spark of him heavenward, no longer cursed, worthy at long last for blessed relief of forgiveness.

**And now I'd like to take this moment to thank all of you once again for being so patient - and for all your kind thoughts and good wishes. I'm only sorry I can't always reply. I do appreciate each and every one, and I thank you from the bottom of my rapidly beating little heart. **

**Many thanks as well to the lovely folk on the IGA thread on the Twilighted forum, as well as the rowdy crew over at the_gazebo. You unwittingly aided my procrastination on this fic, among other things, to heretofore unparalleled heights. (that should read, "my house is a pigsty and my garden is a jungle, but the old laptop fairly sparkles.") All y'all should be real proud of that one. No mean feat I assure you.**

**All joking aside, this was a difficult chapter. A lot needed to be said, and I desperately hope I got it right. Let me know, yeah?**


	24. The Resurrection of Lazarus

**AN. Very briefly - I'm back. For good or ill. I will leave you all to it, and spare my sincere thanks for a more lengthy note at the bottom.**

Bella woke to the soft click of the cabin door as it slipped closed. Blearily, she peered into the half light of the curtained room. The fog of sleep seemed reluctant to fade as her limbs swum dimly through the slippery sheets. She had a vague recollection of cool lips on her forehead in the dark hours of the early morning and a whispered promise of return.

Her searching hand fisted in empty bedding as her muddled senses finally registered stealthy footsteps and a poorly muffled snicker, and then the drapes were whipped open, pouring in the blinding blue light of a snow covered morning.

It filled the room in a brilliant haze, lingering on the gossamer dust as it drifted in the still air between her and the shadowed figure standing just outside of the window frame.

_Edward._

_And . . . _she inhaled deeply . . . _coffee?_

He stepped into the light then, the snow caught in his rumpled hair blazing in tiny diadems, his face open, and eager, and heartbreakingly innocent.

In one hand he carried a brown paper bag, stamped with the logo of one of the shops from the village, in the other a large French press, full to the brim, and steaming.

"I thought you might like –" he started, shuffling his feet awkwardly, just as Bella breathed, "Oh, _ambrosia,"_ and held out her arms, beckoning. Edward's smile was brilliant as he stepped forward with his humble offering, but instead of relinquishing his gifts into her outstretched hands, it was himself he slipped between them, planting his extremely cold nose in the crook of her neck, while his hair released a veritable avalanche of snow down the back of her shirt.

Shrieking in outrage, she flailed her arms madly against her arctic assailant, only to suffer the indignity of Edward flopping his long body over hers and going completely limp, pinning her easily to the mattress while he chuckled breathlessly in her ear. Along with the snowdrift lodged in the briar patch of Edward's hair, there was also a good deal of it adhered to his clothing, and it was quickly melting against the portions of her that were pressed up against him. Which seemed to be all of her. Edward was nothing if not very thorough.

Squashed under a few hundred pounds of snow laden vampire, Bella couldn't bring herself to care. She delighted in this new Edward who was unafraid to laugh and play with her on a wide bed still ruffled with the weight of their midnight confessions – who was nothing like the horribly conflicted young man she had fallen in love with those years ago – so she only struggled halfheartedly beneath him under the covers, laughing helplessly as the grasping tentacles of his hair curled and unfurled, dropping freezing diamonds onto her exposed skin, his long legs tangling with hers amidst the bedclothes.

He was ethereal and light, a spark of kindled flame come to rest between her arms, his touch utterly primal and possessive, beguiling her, compelling her to respond in kind, laying out her body in trust on the downy alter of the giant four poster. And when she saw the lone trickle of melted snow against the pale skin of his neck, she licked it, tracing a path from the sharp dip of his collarbone to just behind his ear.

The melted snow tasted cool and sweet, of Edward and innocence, living glass and treacle bursting against her tongue. He shuddered and groaned at her touch, soft and low, the vibrations of it jolting down to her toes, lighting something deep and dark between her thighs.

Suddenly Bella was no longer fighting his cold weight above her, but straining him closer, cradling her body around the tiny thing that had grown between them in their brief time together. She arched her back as Edward began pressing slow open mouthed kisses down the pulse in her neck and onto her chest, sighing as one cool hand slipped, firm and sure along her ribs, tracing the outline of her breast, before he dropped one last kiss over the thundering beat of her heart, and covered it gently with his palm.

"Can we keep this bed?" Her voice sounded high and tinny over the rushing of her blood. _Can we keep this moment?_

The low rumble of his laugh stirred pleasantly against her belly.

"I would stay in this bed with you forever if I could." His breath whispered over the sensitive skin of her breast and her body rippled with gooseflesh. "But –"

" –we need to go home." Bella finished softly. "I know. Besides, my coffee's getting cold." _And if I don't move now, I never will._

She made to sit up then, divesting herself of some six foot of reluctant Edward, smiling as he smirked up at her, rumpled and mischievous.

Rummaging through Edward's bag of spoils, she found an assortment of pastries along with a large china tourist mug emblazoned with a delft blue etching of the Canadian Rockies. The coffee chuckled merrily into the cup as she poured, and Bella leaned back against the soft mass of the down pillows, feeling rather decadent as she did so. She was immediately swarmed by Edward as he crawled back over the tangle of her legs, wrapping his arms around her hips and burrowing his head into her stomach.

Bella couldn't help but smile, letting her free hand dance through Edward's hair, tracing the elfin curl of his ear. Somewhere in the ruddy tangle she saw a soft, golden eye peer up at her before it closed over a contented sigh.

X X X X X

Edward tapped his finger thoughtfully on the steering wheel. Bella was curled against the doorframe, staring out at the snow as it fell in skirling sheets around them, cocooning the Mustang in an endless tunnel of white. She had donned her armor; the grease stained canvas jacket, scuffed boots and double lined jeans burying the soft feminine lines of her body in coarse fabric. The only remnant of the sensual figure he had come to know during their brief respite together was the long cascade of her dark hair as it fell, unbound, over her shoulders, trailing down to her hips. Loosed from its braid, Edward could finally see the lone streak of white that marred Bella's mane of roan and umber, starting just above her left ear.

The unwanted memory flickered before him – the stream of fine silver strands once again bleeding scarlet, while Bella lay, broken and gasping on the ballet floor, the heady scent of her freshly spilt blood soured with that of his own fear and desperation.

Another wound Carlisle had stitched closed

_Another scar left because of me._

He sighed. Was there any part of her where his existence had not left a mark?

_Probably not._

They had not spoken of their destination since before they left the cabin and that final moment when Edward had pressed her up against the car, kissing her desperately, passionately, as though she were not taking the journey home with him, the words shared between them rendered as fragile and ephemeral as the tiny flakes that fell around them.

It had been easy to forget, as they lay tangled in the sheets of their tiny oasis, away from the demands of the outside world, but now, on the road, their time alone slipping out from under them as the miles passed, the specter of the future rose once before them again, a dark stain in the heavy clouds.

_Home._ They were going home. But there was as yet no resolution awaiting them, only more questions.

What would happen when they walked through that front door? Would Bella, would his family, finally be able to look beyond his heinous deceit? Would she still want him? Would any of them, really?

It had been barely a month since he had returned home from his self imposed exile. A scant five years since he had branded them all with the stain of his prejudice. And though they had tacitly forgiven him, Edward could not help but think that it was conditional.

_Bring her back, _Emmett had said. _It's the only way you can come home. _

At the time, Edward had thought Emmett had meant it was the only way he could let go the overwhelming self-loathing that had kept him away. Now, as the miles between Edward and his second homecoming dwindled, he began to wonder if Emmett had simply meant that without Bella there would be no home for him to return to.

It would not be anything less than he deserved.

The thought of it terrified him.

It had been easy to forget, living alone as he had for the past five years. Holed up in an abandoned fire lookout deep in the wilds of British Columbia, the endless days had been strung together like beads on a rosary. Ticking off decades of regret for himself, each Hail Mary woven around the sorrowful mystery etched on Bella's face, over and over again as his last memory of her tormented him; all bound together on the heavy chain of his excommunication as he whispered his fruitless prayer of contrition in all the languages he knew,_ Mon Dieu, je regret . . . I detest . . . all of my sins . . . because of Thy just punishment. _And the last, the most frequent, _Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. _

He was not surprised that God did not listen.

Immersed in an eternal solitude and surrounded by the impenetrable fog of his creeping guilt, Edward thought his self imposed penance enough. But with Bella sitting next to him, swathed in a rough wool blanket, his most grievous sin in the flesh, he felt as though he had been granted a temporary reprieve, and that the worst was yet to come.

He missed his family terribly. Walking through their front doorway those after those long years apart – when Emmett and Jasper had finally let him up from the ground – the recriminating loneliness of his existence had almost choked him. He loved them – Carlisle, Esme, Alice – all of them. Yet in losing Bella he had lost them all; and though he had resolved not to be a coward – to bring her back, to follow wherever she would go – Edward found that he could not smother the awful dread that if Bella did not want them, if this reunion would not go well, that the rift was too great, that his family would not want him either.

For once he wished he had Alice's prescience, for good or ill. And that he had not thrown his cell phone out the car window somewhere on the road in Montana.

The anticipation was excruciating.

Frantic to break the silence, Edward blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Rosalie is going to shit when she sees this car."

Bella snorted, either at the image or the uncharacteristic vulgarity, still looking out at the rolling Canadian landscape as the snow fell heavily around them.

"I thought you Cullens had _everything_." He couldn't help but hear the subtle accusation.

"Rose had a Stingray back then. But we'd just moved, and Carlisle had just started over as a medical student, so we were trying to keep a low profile."

"Low profile my ass. You all are about as low profile as nuns in a whorehouse."

Edward chuckled.

"I'm serious. Carlisle thought we were being too, um, materialistic, so we went though phase were no one was allowed to get anything new." He shuddered at the memory. "Carlisle did it best. He had this horrible old Chrysler 300M that he drove _everywhere._ It was hideous. Even Esme said she wouldn't be caught dead in it."

At this Bella howled with laughter, clutching her sides as the tears came, until Edward realized his own gaffe and started to laugh as well.

"Oh shit, Edward," she gasped. "I don't know what's worse, Esme or the car."

"Both. We _hated_ that car. But he drove it until even Rose refused to fix it anymore." He felt his lips curl at the memory.

"Emmett bought an old hearse in protest. Carlisle was furious."

"I can't imagine why."

It was Edward's turn to snort. "We were never able to legally get rid of it. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get someone to buy a hearse from the undead?"

Bella giggled, the sound of tinkling water over tiny rocks, no doubt picturing Emmett leering gleefully at his unsuspecting prospective buyers, who found themselves looking at him in nervous askance, as though he were Charon, and the decrepit old hearse was the raft, ready to ferry them across the river Styx.

They would never know how close that was to the truth.

"What did you have, then?" She shot him a sly glance. "A Morris?"

Edward flicked her knee.

"I had a Jaguar," he said primly. Bella's eyebrows rose, and he quickly added, "But I bought it used."

"An XKE, right?" A wicked smile flashed across her face. "Let me guess. It had a bad clutch?"

Edward nodded. Though almost new, the Jaguar had been a bargain seeing as the failing clutch, the car's Achilles heel, could only be reached by removing the engine – a prohibitively costly repair. At least, that was how Edward justified his purchase when he brought the flashy convertible back to the family fold.

"_It was a bargain!" he insisted. "The dealer practically _told_ me I was an idiot for buying it."_

Carlisle had pressed his lips together reprovingly as Emmett laughed and called him a cheater. Rosalie, on the other hand, had been a staunch supporter of Edward's subversion of the rules, smiling maniacally and clapping him on the shoulder, before stalking off to the back of the garage to gather her wrenches.

_Let's get to work_.

That had been one of the last times he had felt truly part of his family – talking to Rose about cars, taking the Jaguar on boot rallies with Alice and Jasper as the two of them rattled along behind him in their tiny MG - which generally proved to be a tour of hilarity as both Alice and Edward cheated horribly – and proudly squiring Esme about on the multiple occasions when the indignity of the rusty white land yacht Carlisle insisted was an acceptable form of conveyance became too much for her.

It was still one of his favorite cars – sleek and powerful and his – more so because of its flawed, temperamental nature that seemed to exactly mirror that of its owner. The Mustang, he realized, was much the same for Bella: raw and earthy and patently her.

And Edward had to admit, that though he loved the precision of the more modern cars he drove, there was something about the Mustang's ungodly roar as he shifted gears and jammed the gas, the massive rear tires threatening to break loose at every turn, something that made him smile with wicked delight. It was reckless speed and temptation and explosive fury and _life _poured into several thousand pounds of steel and rubber, all harnessed to a siren call. The same one that Bella sang to him, the unintelligible verses that begged him to throw caution to the wind, to grab on to it – to her – with both hands if he could, and to live.

His grip tightened on the wheel. Not long after they had taken to the road, Bella had leaned over and styled his hair into two matching horns, telling him that as long as he "drove like he was the Devil Incarnate he should really look the part." He had batted her fingers away gently at first, finally resorting to poking her in the ribs when she refused to cease her ministrations. A muffled squawk and a brief scuffle later left them with Edward's hair resembling nothing so much as a profusion of very upset antlers while Bella struggled to loosen herself from her jacket, the suddenly empty sleeves having been tied into several knots. Those words came back to him now.

_The part. _

An act.

All his immortal life Edward had been playing a part, trying to pass himself off as something he was not through a meticulously crafted veneer. A human. A sometime vigilante. Compassionate. Loyal. Complacent. In the years with his family Edward had played the son: a companion, a brother and a friend. A boy. An innocent. An ascetic. All those things and not yet a man; but believing himself content all the same. It was all an act; and the passing of the Jaguar played its own part in reminding him that he had never been given the lines of a lover – never gotten the chance to play the part.

He sighed at the memory.

The Jaguar was long gone, sold during one of their many moves. The end of the Viet Nam War had been the harbinger of another move for their family; and in light of the ongoing fuel crisis and the need to remain inconspicuous, the Jaguar had fallen victim to the times. It had been sold, and along with it, a piece of Edward had seemed to go too.

With the severing of that purposeful, playful link between himself and his family, Edward had begun to slowly withdraw, feeling something akin to regret and, perhaps, jealousy, as he watched the other couples settle into their new lives with comparative ease – more so because they were together. Retreating behind an aloof façade, Edward continued to deny his need for a romantic attachment, pretending, but no longer believing that he was resigned to his lot. He had chafed horribly, knowing that he was pitied, an object of kind speculation, no matter how carefully his family had tried to hide it.

It was a strange thing, he realized, how truly alone one could be in a house full of people.

Bella's bursting into his life, all wet heartbeat and ambrosia and excruciating temptation, effectively closed that void. But it had exposed him, too; leaving him pinned under the microscopic lens of his family's gleeful curiosity as his carefully constructed exterior shattered under her recklessly oblivious onslaught. Seeing Edward in love was an entirely new experience for the rest of the Cullens, and they all took great joy in their part in it. That is, they teased him horribly, rejoicing in the fact that Edward had finally fallen from his supposed pedestal of indifference, and delighting in his naïve vulnerability.

It was mortifying, then, knowing he was so transparent, but now Edward felt he would give anything to hear another one of Emmett's graphic lectures on "The Birds and the Bees," or to hear Rosalie's snicker when Alice would rush to give him last minute advice as he tried to sneak out the door to Bella's, only to find that his shirt was on inside out and his shoes didn't match.

They did it then because they loved him. After all that he had done, Edward could only hope that their love will still be enough.

X X X X X

Just before the turnoff on the old forest service road leading up to the Cullens' latest home, Edward pulled the car over. He leaned his head against the steering wheel, feeling the throb of the Mustang's idling motor vibrating his skull as he looked at the woman sitting next to him.

Bella had dozed off, her head pillowed against a roll of the woolen blanket she had wrapped around herself. Her face had relaxed in sleep, softening into the lines of girlhood that had been stamped into Edward's memory. Looking at her made him ache.

Even in the darkness she glowed.

_You are so beautiful,_ he wanted to say. _Please don't ever go. _

He hoped he would still have the chance to tell her that, when it was all over.

A dreary rain fell around them. The elevation was lower here, not yet willing to accept the winter cold. It settled instead around them in a fog of resignation, undeterred by the pale light of the creeping dawn, punctuated only by the odd snowflake that fell with the steady raindrops, breaking sullenly apart on the windshield.

The drive started the afternoon before seemed suddenly all too short, and Edward found himself wishing that he could double back, to prolong this final homecoming just a little longer.

Even in her slumber, Bella seemed to sense his reluctance. Shivering awake, she turned to look at him, her eyes dimmed with sad apprehension.

"It's time, isn't it?"

Edward nodded, his temple rubbing on the smooth surface of the steering wheel.

"Bella, I don't know what's going to happen when we go up there. I just – I want you to know –" She stopped him, grabbing his hand as he reached for her.

"Edward, I know."

Gently he turned her hand over and brought it to his lips, kissing the angry red scar that tore across her palm.

"I feel like I'm being resurrected," Bella whispered softly. "Like you're bringing me home and I walk in the door saying 'I am Lazarus come from the dead.'" She freed her hand from his and brushed his hair gently off his forehead. Her voice was soft and uncertain. "But I don't know what to say when I get there. I thought I did . . . but I don't . . . not anymore."

Not since Edward confessed his real reason for leaving her.

Yet another mess that he had made.

Nothing in his life, it seemed, could ever be straightforward. He had spent years wondering why he could not simply fall in love, only to find himself dragging the one woman he had given his heart to back to his family, forcing the words of Prufrock out of her mouth through his own fearful stupidity.

"Would it have been worth while," Edward murmured. "To have bitten off the matter with a smile –" Bella's fingers ceased their combing of his hair as her lips curled in a wry smile as she finished the stanza for him.

"To have squeezed the universe into a ball

To roll it toward some overwhelming question,

To say: 'I am Lazarus, come from the dead,

Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all'—"

She shook her head back at him.

"I'm no prophet, Edward. I'm just Bella, plain and simple_._ And I'd tell you the same thing I told Dr. Reyerson when I met him: 'I don't do girl stuff. I work on my own car, and I drink the beer I make at home.' And I have a couch sized dog that would eat you and your whole family if he could."

Pressing her lips together, she sat up and away from him. His hair instantly missed the touch of her fingers.

"I miss your family – I miss them terribly. But I can't pretend that I'm not angry – that I can just walk in and everything will be all right – or that some of this isn't my own fault." Bella sighed. "I don't have any answers, Edward. Just – let's just go and get this over with."

It sounded so clinical, as if returning home would be like ripping off some metaphorical bandaid. But neither of them was certain if the wound it covered were not still mortal.

X X X X X

Reluctantly Edward put the car back in gear, taking them all too quickly up the winding road he had so recently traveled for his own inauspicious homecoming. Before long they reached the summit of the remote hillside, and Bella had her first glimpse of the Cullens' most recent domestic endeavor.

A sweeping lawn led up to a huge, bungalow-style log cabin that looked out over the snow-covered Cascades of British Columbia. Like the river house in Forks, it was backed up against dense forestland, as though, it too was trying to creep back into the woods. The gravel drive led to a number of similarly styled outbuildings that hunched conspiratorially around the back of the house. All was strangely still in the watery morning light, though Bella knew that everyone would be awake regardless of what time of day.

Edward was tense beside her, as though he were listening to voices just out of even his range of hearing. His already pale knuckles whitened even further as his hands clenched around the steering wheel, stopping the car with little fanfare in front of the garage.

Bella shot him a glance in askance, but he only shook his head.

With the Mustang's motor off, the silence was stifling.

_It was time._

Not waiting for Edward, she pulled herself out of the car. Everything seemed suddenly to become very clear, even in the dull mist that came with the rain. She could see the outline of every blade of grass, each drop of water as it darkened the dirty canvas of her jacket, could hear every wet hiss of rain-soaked air as it filled her lungs. Even Edward, who could walk over a bed of autumn leaves with nary a sound, seemed to shuffle noisily beside her.

There was still no sign of life from the house.

_Home_. _Edward's home. Everyone's – _But was it her home? Would they still want her? Had they ever wanted her really?

Did she even want that anymore?

Her mouth tasted dry and gummy, her tongue suddenly too big. And suddenly Bella was on the front porch, her scuffed boots scraping awkwardly against the smooth wood as she mounted the steps, with Edward dragging beside her, his head hung as though he were going to his own execution.

_Dead man walking,_ she wanted to say, but didn't.

The porch was wide and pristine, soft pine and right angles, as she hesitated before the door, a slew of ridiculous questions racing in her mind.

_Should she knock? Did Edward have a key? What was the etiquette for such a reunion? What the _fuck_ was she supposed to say? _

But the questions died before she could answer them, as the front door was abruptly wrenched open, and a figure fit for the role of the Angel Gabriel stepped out before them.

_Rosalie._

Her face was expressionless as she fixed Bella with her pale golden eyes,taking in every detail from the silvered hair on her head to her grubby nails and down to her dirty hiking boots all the way out to the giant piece of American muscle car history parked in front of the closed garage. She still was everything that Bella remembered, tall, aloof and just a little terrifying in her inhuman beauty; but the gimlet eye that Rosalie had reserved for her as Edward's human companion was gone, replaced by a look that Bella could not decipher.

Rosalie's beautiful lips pursed in an odd smirk as she looked Bella over, sparing no dignity for her disgraced brother in doing so.

_You don't scare me anymore,_ Bella thought, drawing herself up to her full height. The top of her head just barely reached Rosalie's chin.

"Rosalie," her voice was surprisingly firm.

As if she could read Bella's mind, Rosalie's face suddenly broke into a full smile.

"Bella Swan," she said at last. "It's about fucking time."

Bella almost wanted to laugh, but the sound died on her lips as her eyes caught movement up behind Rosalie's shoulder. Wordlessly she pressed forward, shouldering inelegantly past the exotic woman before her, her gaze locked on the figure standing just above them on the stairs.

For there – caught mid-step just above the landing, a small dark haired sylph-like figure lingered, her huge eyes wide and glassy, while her mouth worked soundlessly to frame the words she was no longer certain she would say. Dimly she heard Edward mutter softly _"Lazarus, indeed"_ behind her, but she no longer had ears for that, nor eyes for the beautiful woman before her – for all she could see was the girl on the stairs, the sister to her heart, and the companion to her despair. There, _there_ was Alice.

"_Alice."_

**The poem Edward and Bella use in this chapter is from T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." It's an essential - and it's rather fitting. But I must say that Jfly (aka Thallium81) does the Prufrock parallel best over on Twilighted with a lovely story called "Sanctuary." Her writing owns me down to the letter. **

**I must say a sincere and heartfelt thanks to all of you who have stuck with this story, and who have waited so patiently for me to continue. All of your well-wishes have meant the world to me. Thank you. This has truly been an inspirational experience. For all of you who have left reviews I am so very thankful, even if I have not had the time to respond. I do apologize for that - your comments have been instrumental in keeping this story going, and keeping me focused - and I couldn't do this without your support. You make me a better writer.**

**I do hope that this chapter feels like progress. I've been stuck in the limbo of Master's thesis for so long it seems like nothing is moving at the moment, but that's all over and done with now. As my professor would say, I've got to "ride this horse" and see it through to the end. Thank you all, once again, for bearing with me. Hopefully we'll be doing this again soon!**


	25. Prometheus

**Yesterday, September 16th, was IGA's first birthday. I offer it this chapter, in birthday good cheer.**

"_Bella."_

It was barely a whisper. Alice swayed where she stood, one hand gripping the newel post, the other pressed over her lips, as though she could stem the tide of gasping breaths that threatened to burst out of her. The very same ones that Bella could feel wrenching out of her own chest.

_Alice. Oh Alice._

And she was running. Up the stairs, two at a time. Catching Alice as she wavered, their bodies falling with a soft thump on the landing, arms and legs and hands tangled together, their heaving sobs a symphony of loneliness and regret, offered up to a silent heaven.

Alice was holding her tight – too tight. But the screaming protest of Bella's ribs was lost to her as the grief and desolation of the last five years burned through her, hot as venom, and she held onto Alice as hard as she could as she wept and wept and wept.

"I never got to say goodbye. _I never got to say goodbye."_ Alice's voice was thick and strange in Bella's ears, full of plaintive longing as they rocked together on the floor.

"_I didn't want you to go_," Bella whispered fiercely between her sobbing breaths. The words scorched in her throat, litany and incantation both, and Bella repeated them over and over, as if she could somehow press the gulf of time between them together, to heal the wound before it was begun. _"I didn't _want_ you to go." _

There were no more words for them then, for sisters in grief they understood; and the wave of sorrow rose in an inexorable swell, covering them both.

X X X X X

Emmett skidded to a halt on the smooth floor just outside of the entryway. A moment earlier it seemed, he and Jasper were high up on the mountainside, intent on their game, when Jasper suddenly stiffened, his eyes focused on some distant mark, before he whipped around and belted downhill, leaving a stunned Emmett in his wake.

And then he heard what Jasper had – a low rumbling sound that just tickled the edge of his hearing. The sound of American iron.

"_Jesus shit."_

_Bella._

They hadn't known she was coming. All contact with Edward had ceased that afternoon in Montana when Bella had taken him away. Even Alice had been unable to see where he had gone. And now she was home, alone with Rose, waiting for Carlisle and Esme to return from Vancouver. Emmett cursed again, knowing full well what the loss of Bella had cost her – Alice would need them all.

He had run then, faster than he ever thought possible, Jasper's tall frame a whisper of thought ahead of him, pushing himself until he was certain his legs would split from his body, pelting on madly down the mountain, leaving the brains of the matter behind.

Emmett had hoped for Bella's return, but dreaded all the same.

"_Come home for _you, _Bella," _Emmett had said the day she had come to collect Edward's things at their hotel. _"Because you _want _to. Not because you think you should."_

"_I will come back," _Bella had replied. _"Or not at all."_

He had felt a little in awe of her, so different she had become. No longer bumbling and awkward, but terse and proud, a living monument to her secret pain. Watching her press her lips together in a thin line as she swept Edward's bag onto her shoulder, Emmett felt an odd pang of fear for his wayward brother.

Bella was the keystone for Edward, whether he willed it or no – the one thing that could bring him absolution, or utter destruction; and though the rest of the Cullens felt themselves bound together in familial affection, without Edward, the ultimate sham of their existence had glared at them, a dark stain on the bright walls and clear floors of the home they inhabited.

It frightened him – how much they needed her.

The damp forestland passed in a blur, blue and green and black in the coming dawn; and then he was bursting out of the woods, past the sentinel firs around the back of their latest home, up the porch, only to be brought short by the scene unfolding before him.

Alice and Bella knelt together on the upstairs landing in a crumpled heap, their arms wrapped so tightly around each other Emmett could barely see where one woman stopped and the other began. Only by the stark contrast of their skin, rose and gold against indigo and ivory, could he tell them apart. They could have been statues they were so still. The still air of the house was punctuated with their soft, gasping breaths.

Rosalie stood by the front door, a stricken look on her face. Edward was just behind her, as if he were using her body as a shield, his shoulders hunched miserably, looking very much as if he would like to vomit. But neither of them had eyes for Alice and Bella.

Instead their gaze was focused on Jasper, as he pressed up against the banister, gripping it as though it were a lifeline thrown to him in a building sea, his expression a mix of pure longing and abject terror.

Bella had come back to them.

To damn them or save them, Bella had come back.

Emmett went to his wife, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder. He felt her shudder, letting out a great sigh as she reached up and clasped his fingers with her own.

_Man up,_ he thought to Edward, not entirely unkindly. Edward was an idiot to be sure – of that Emmett was certain – but he was not altogether bad. The smothering guilt that had overwhelmed any sense of his self worth was not ill intended, though Emmett did not doubt that Edward used his ability to peer into the minds of others and twist their thoughts in a way that justified his own skewed perceptions of himself. Used it until Emmett thought that maybe Edward could not see the difference between what was right, and what was the product of his own elegant fabrication.

Bella had changed all that. Her immunity to his gift had finally driven him out of everyone else's heads and back into his own. They had been so hopeful for him then. He had finally seemed like a boy – able to become the young man he had been denied in the odd journey of his life – to be the Edward he had always meant to be.

Emmett wondered if he would finally get the chance to try.

Edward let out a rough sob as Bella whispered something to Alice on the stairs. Their own sobs had quieted, and now the two young women knelt facing each other, their foreheads pressed together, hands on each other's shoulders.

"You wanted this," Emmett whispered to Edward as they lingered there at the foot of the stairs. "We all wanted this."

Without a word, Rosalie turned to Edward, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, drawing him with Emmett out of the room; while behind them, Jasper set a tentative foot on the stairs, gently, as though he were a knight gallant, ready to awaken a fair maiden from her enchanted slumber. Only now he found that she had been awake the whole time, watching him – that he had been the dreamer all along.

X X X X X

Jasper stood at the bottom step, one shaking hand on the rail.

Bella felt suddenly beyond awkward.

How did one comfort the man – vampire – who had once tried to eat her? There was no lingering fantasy – that she would hold out a forgiving hand in benediction and he would kiss it like she were royalty, nor any ridiculous platitudes, no "I'm sorry I made you want to make me dinner" – only the pain etched on his face, and Alice's thin frame pressed against hers, quaking with uneven breaths.

Scrubbing the tears off her face with the heel of her hand, Bella rose to her feet unsteadily, drawing Alice up with her. Their fingers knotted painfully together as Jasper made his way cautiously up the stairs. He stopped, just below the landing, his eyes level with hers.

There was no calm aura about him now, no reserve, and Bella could feel the swirling tendrils of his heartbreak as they mingled with her own.

They stared at each other a long minute, a thousand words and none at all shared between them.

Achingly slow, Jasper reached out an unsteady hand, his index finger just barely tracing Alice and Bella's shared grasp.

"Thank you," said Jasper softly. And then it was all simple, as Bella put a hand on his shoulder, leaning her forehead against his temple, and Alice wrapped her arms around them both.

X X X X X

Emmett and Rosalie sat with Edward at the kitchen island, watching him as he hunched over the countertop, head in his hands. They had wanted to give Jasper at least the semblance of privacy, though Rosalie was clearly curious about _everything _Bella – especially wanting to become more acquainted with the monster currently parked out in front of the garage – whispered as much to Emmett as they guided Edward out of the entryway.

Emmett was quiet. Edward seemed _off_, for lack of a better word. Almost two weeks alone with Bella, the scent of her so strong on his skin that Emmett wondered if Edward hadn't just thrown her down and rolled on her, yet he still appeared to be living under the shadow of an axe.

Edward nodded, his hands fisting in his hair. Everything about him seemed to droop, his hair, his clothes, even the laces on his boots hung limp and ashamed. When he raised his eyes they were dim and bleak.

"She came back," Edward said in a dull voice. "I just don't know for whom."

"Has she –"

"No."

Rosalie frowned slightly, shaking her head disapprovingly, and Edward glared at her.

"Yes, that would have been very helpful, Rose," he snapped without elaborating. "All she would say to me is that she had to make this right." He put his head back down on the table. "She didn't say anything about me."

And Rosalie shocked Emmett then, pulling Edward into an awkward hug as he crouched on the barstool, ruffling the unhappy mop of his hair.

"I'm sorry," he choked into her shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I've done horrible things – "

Emmett shared a bland look with Rosalie.

"You're done _human_ things, Edward," he said at last. "It's not _normal_ to be as perfect as you were trying to be. Sometimes people get hurt." Emmett scratched his smooth chin thoughtfully. "It's just that most folks don't have the luxury of an eternity to make it up to their family when they've done them over."

_But you're on your own with Bella. Whatever she wants . . . we owe it to her to honor that. _

Edward shivered in Rosalie's embrace. Somewhere in the rumpled mess of arms, ruddy copper and despondency came a small, sad voice.

"Where's Carlisle?"

"Oh, honey," said Rose sadly. "I don't think Carlisle can fix this."

X X X X X

There was a small library in the Cullen's house, lined with tall mahogany bookshelves, with a small river rock fireplace nestled against the center wall. A small fire was lit, crackling merrily, filling the unlit room with a soft ruddy glow. Its light jumped and flickered over the silent spines of the shelves occupants lingering briefly on their hushed conversations, the whispered words pressed between sighing pages. On the plush loveseat before the fire two figures sat, knees drawn beneath them, shoulders together, the combined halos of firelight blurred as their heads touched.

Alice absently toyed with a lock of Bella's hair as it spilled over her own shoulder.

"It's gotten so long," she mused, wrapping a length of it around her fingers, watching the strands glint like old brass against her pale skin.

Bella sighed, thinking of all the times Alice had played with her hair, envious that she could never put hers in a braid, nor feel its weight upon her narrow shoulders. They had laughed then, when Bella had let Alice "borrow" it, hiding behind her and flipping the long brown tresses over Alice's head in front of a mirror, giggling as the smaller girl preened her newfound hair.

It _was_ much longer now. The brown locks that had once just kissed her shoulder blades now tumbled in an umber cascade down to her hips. Hidden in the thick waves was that lone silver streak, the secret map of her lonely history.

"How come you never –"

Bella stilled Alice's question, grasping the small hand still tangled in the dark strands.

"Because it remembered you," she said simply.

A burl of pitch popped and hissed in the fire, but the room was silent, as the shadows housing the ghosts of the past kept a quiet vigil.

X X X X X

The day's sullen rain had finally given over in the late afternoon to heavy, sodden flakes that fell with quiet insistence, covering the ground in a rough layer of over-sugared icing. Purple bruised clouds hung over the dark silhouette of the house, dour and ominous as the Cullens slipped one by one into the small library.

Bella felt rather than heard their entrance, as they sidled into the darkened corners of the room, sensing their wary eyes upon her. She could see Edward out of the corner of her eye, rigid against the wall, the elegant lines of his body tense and uncomfortable. His eyes were hidden in the shadows, black and unreadable. Rosalie stood next to him, proud and aloof. Only the iron grip in which she held Edward's elbow belied her façade of perfect calm.

Emmett was next, coming to stand on the other side of Edward, his usually open face inscrutable. Of all of them, Jasper looked most at ease, already sitting on the floor at Alice's feet as she sat next to Bella on the couch. His head was thrown back on the cushions against Alice's knees and his long legs stretched out towards the fire. Jasper's eyes were closed, but in his gift he could not escape, and when Carlisle and Esme at last entered the room, the way for him was shut.

"Bella." Carlisle's voice was soft, but heavy, falling into the hidden cracks as he stood behind her– the emptiness that was not Edward. Bella shivered.

"Carlisle." She did not turn around. Instead her eyes were focused on the fire, searching in its depths as if she could find in it the burning thing that had filled her chest as the Cullens crept into the room – as if she could pluck it out with the wrought iron tongs and throw it out into the falling night.

Would it hiss, she wondered, when it hit the ground?

His name was thick in her mouth, the consonant _C_ so different, and yet so achingly similar to that of the man with whom she shared her paternal DNA. Yet neither of them would let her call them the name she had needed most: _Father_.

For a brief moment Dr. Reyerson's weathered features swam before her in the fire, dry and sardonic as always, his sharp gray eyes commanding, steeling her spine even as her vision blurred with tears.

_Courage, Swan,_ she knew he would say.

Courage. Courage to strip herself bare; to uncover all the secret agonies she had buried; to shatter her broken heart once again; to give them back from whence they came.

_Oh, Doc, this is going to hurt._

"I missed you. All of you. Every single day." Bella's voice was a rasp, sharp in her breast, scraping along the soft pine walls, dry in her own ears. The salt tears scalded her swollen eyelids. "I thought – I thought you –" A bubble of grief rose up in her throat and she could not finish. _I thought you wanted me? _

Not enough, apparently. They ringed the room – silent, pale totems of her past, symbols of the long years she had spent without them, whispering her sorrows to the trees of another forest.

Angrily she dashed the tears from her cheeks.

"Edward told me what he said," she began again. "What he told you about me."

Behind her she heard a heavy sigh, and Carlisle at last came round the couch to face her, dropping on his knees to look up into her face. His eyes caught the light of the embers as he turned, and they glowed strangely for a moment, orange and alien as Bella looked over the once familiar lines of his features.

Carlisle looked ashamed. It made him look very young.

But Carlisle's shame was her desolation, and she had borne the burden of Edward's prejudice for far too long in the span of her short life. She would bear its brand no longer.

"How?" It burned in her throat. "How could you believe him?" She did not dare look at the "him" in question. "How could you think so little of me?"

Her eyes rested on the soft waves of Carlisle's hair as he looked down at his hands. His voice was rough when at last he spoke, "Believe me when I say this, Bella, we never meant to hurt you.

"But you must understand, it is a lonely life being as we are, even as a family. There are not many of us who . . . live . . . as we do. It is a difficult thing, to try and retain our humanity – to live in such close proximity to that which we most desire – to be rejected despite of all our best efforts."

Carlisle's words fanned the burning ache in Bella's breast, until it flared, scouring in her veins, scorching down into her fingertips.

"_I never did! I never would have done that," _she hissed, before turning to the rest of the family, eyes wide and streaming. "I loved you! I loved all of you!" _I still do._

Even Rosalie; whose sour reticence she was finally beginning to understand.

"But you left me." Her voice sounded pitiful, even in her own ears.

"We did." Carlisle agreed. He rubbed an anxious hand through his hair, before gazing at her bleakly. The gesture sparked an odd bloom of recognition.

_Edward,_ Bella thought dispassionately. _He looks like Edward._

Unaware of her strange revelation, Carlisle continued, "For centuries I walked this earth alone, trying to redeem what I had become, helping where I could, healing where I could. But always, I was alone. Even with Edward . . ." Carlisle cast an apologetic glance at his first son. "We crave companionship just as you do. But humans shun us naturally, and rightly so. In this world of so many . . . we are so alone. Until there was you."

He looked at Bella sorrowfully. "You don't know how precious you were to us, Bella."

The sincerity of his tone stung. Always she had doubted. Always she had been unsure. Whether or not she was wanted, whether or not she was important. And now she had heard those words come awfully too late. A sharp sob welled up in her throat, ripping its way out unbidden.

"You came to us – you trusted us – for all that you knew we were." Carlisle's gaze lingered on the silver strands in her hair, knowing full well what had caused them. "You gave us hope in the face of so much evil.

"That night after your birthday when Edward came home without you, I – we were devastated. For him, because he loved you and for the rest of my family because they had tried so hard and failed."

_Poor Jasper._

"We never questioned his explanation," Carlisle continued. "It made sense that you would finally be afraid – that you realized one of us might harm you."

Beside her, Alice shuddered. "It was easy to believe Edward, Bella," she said in a low voice as Jasper reached up to grasp her hand. "Logical even. We brought you so much danger."

Memories of Alice wrestling Bella into her prom dress and prodding her with a curling iron while she shrieked and laughed surfaced briefly, and Bella sniffled wetly.

"I liked your danger," she said, grasping Alice and Jasper's joined hands. Alice gave her a watery smile, no doubt remembering the same thing.

"I'm so sorry I didn't see it, Bella. I was with Jasper – and then Edward called and I couldn't – " Alice choked, covering her mouth with her fist. Esme stepped behind her, running a soothing hand through her smallest daughter's hair.

"We left for Edward," said Esme. "To see him finally find love and to lose it so awfully . . . we could not bear to see him in so much pain."

"I only wanted to protect my son," Carlisle peered up at Bella imploringly. "It broke my heart, to see him so."

Bella looked over at Edward then, still pressed against the wall, his breathing matching hers, shallow and unsteady. His eyes were closed, but even so, she could see that he too was burning.

"Pain," Bella murmured dreamily. "I know pain. I know what it is to be frozen. To be forgotten. I know that pain." She looked down at Carlisle, still kneeling like a supplicant before her. "But I never knew the pain of being false until I met all of you."

Rising slowly to her feet, Bella turned, looking at each member of the family in turn.

"For the last five years I lived knowing that I loved you, and it wasn't enough. You were the only _real_ family I had and I wasn't enough for you. And now . . . to know that you all thought that it was me who didn't want you?" Her voice was high, tinged with hysteria.

_Bullshit,_ she wanted to scream. _This is bullshit._

But she did not, for Edward's eyes suddenly snapped open, filled with naked dread, as Rosalie stepped forward into the firelight.

"How could we know what you felt, Bella?" Rosalie's expression was earnest, and not unkind. "How could you expect us to trust you? How could you know then, what you really wanted? You were just a little girl who was blinded by our glamour."

The truth of Rosalie's words crackled through the air, potent as a slap.

"I don't say this because I don't like you, Bella. I say it because it's something you have always had over us: a _choice._ None of us chose this life. But you can, or not. And it's not something you can take back. What if Edward Changed you? What would happen then, Bella? What would happen in ten or fifteen or twenty years when you suddenly realized you wanted to have a child? And you couldn't. Did you ever think about that?"

Bella was silent, the throbbing click of her heart as it hammered in her ears the only sound in the room. She had been so certain . . . then. Rosalie was right to question her, to remind her of all that she would sacrifice. None of which she had thought of as young girl. None of which she had thought of as she had rebuilt herself in Edward's absence as the long lonely years of her life stretched out before her. But now . . . nothing was certain anymore.

"What would you do then?" Rosalie pressed. "When there is no more glamour to the lust and the killing? When you realize you don't want this life anymore? What would you do when your regret made you start to hate him?"

"I don't know." The admission fell with a leaden thump in the quiet room, just as Edward's head knocked back against the wall.

"I don't know," Bella said again, as she looked at the faces of the ones she had longed for so dearly.

"Could you blame us, then," Rosalie whispered, "if we wanted to spare Edward that fate?"

"No. I couldn't." She looked directly into Rosalie's eyes the. "Could you blame me? For knowing that for all I missed you . . . that I loved you . . . for feeling that it was never enough?" And with that, Bella burst into tears. Great childlike tears as she wept for the family that had left her, the parents she had never had. For her lost brothers and sisters. For herself, and all her imperfections. For Edward, her lover that had never been true.

"Oh, my girl," Esme whispered, stepping quickly around the loveseat and taking Bella into her arms. "My beautiful girl."

Esme was soft and warm and comfort and home, and all that Bella had never had.

_Mother._

"I always wanted you," Bella wept brokenly into Esme's shoulder, as the older woman rocked her gently. "Always."

They gathered around her then, a family once again, the collective bulk of their bodies blocking the firelight, cloaking them in shadow.

None of them noticed that Edward was no longer in the room.

**And now we are home. I must say, it's been a very long time coming. **

**I dearly want to thank everyone for their supporting me while writing this - especially those of you who have been with me since the beginning. One year! Holy cow! It's been quite an adventure for me, and I assure you that I could not have done it without all of you. I'm afraid to name names for fear of leaving somebody out, but please know, that I appreciate each and every one of you who have read, commented, and cheered me on during the (many) times when my wits abandoned me. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.**

**Please trust me on this Edward thing. I'd like to think he'd know a shark well enough not to jump over it. **

**Thoughts? Comments? Here's a birthday hug for all y'all!**


	26. Pandora

**AN: *ack* **

The air about him sang in rushing ripping darkness. He could hear the voices of his family swelling into a deafening roar, pressing on his ears, his eyeballs, filling his chest until he thought it would burst. The cacophony spun about him in the black void of his mind, lifting his clothes, pulling at his hair, freezing him, blinding him, until suddenly the earth beneath him dropped away and he tipped and tumbled into the yawning abyss.

Like a leaden weight he plummeted, goaded on by guilt and regret, the jagged ground of his own misery rising up to meet him, and he shattered against it.

Edward could feel himself fracturing, white and red and agony exploding in his retinas, his body crumbling away, burning once more, the sobbing breath of Bella's uncertainty fanning the flames.

"_I don't know."_

It throbbed within his mind, mating with Rosalie's apologetic gaze in an obscene dance, whirling in a kaleidoscope of thoughts from the rest of his family, sympathy and grief, and undeserved understanding, at last coming to focus on the image of an emaciated young man, glistening with the sheen of a dying fever, his pale lips painted red as his lungs hemorrhaged, and Carlisle's knowing eyes meeting his.

"_I am sorry."_

Sorry that Edward could never become a man, could never live the course of a normal life, could never spare Bella of the dreadful choice of immortality.

_I should have died, _Edward thought despondently. _ I should have died before it came to this._

For now he was bound to her, accursed thing that he was, destined to be forever in orbit, unable to let her go whether she wanted him or no.

Her name on his lips, Edward opened his eyes to the sound of Bella's doubt, and realized he did not know where he was.

All around him was the dim purple of evening snowfall, and velvet stillness. He was jammed awkwardly between a shoulder of granite and scrub pines on an unfamiliar hillside, his jacket long gone, while tiny flakes dropped insistently into a giant rip down his shirt front. From the feel of it, he had fallen from somewhere above, and the stinging, sticky fluid leaking from his left eye told him he had jabbed it on something very hard and extremely sharp on the way down.

He had run again; and what was worse, he had not realized it.

_Would it always be this way? _Would he always be prey to his own failings? Would he always be playing that part? Forever crossed, fated to drink the poisonous elixir of impetuousness?

Scrubbing the venom out of his eye, Edward choked out a bitter sob.

"_I am not Romeo!" _he shouted into the falling snow. _"God! Please." _And then softer, in his final prayer, "_Bella."_

The cold air swallowed his voice, the drifting flakes shrouding his sorrow. All around the night watched him, entombed in the darkness.

Yet out of the still night, he heard a small voice, far away, but clear, in every way just for him.

"_Edward."_

X X X X X

She was warm and surrounded and content. Esme rocked her, murmuring unintelligibly, and Bella dimly registered someone awkwardly patting her hair.

_She was home._

_Home with her family, home with Edward. The rest of it didn't matter. _It was a strange feeling. She had always thought of their absence as being a part of her self that was missing, a giant hole, right through the middle of her. Yet standing in the middle of the family she had lost, Bella felt as though she had finally stepped back into her own skin. As if she had been a ghost, finally reunited with the body she had left behind.

All she needed was the spark – the fire that would set her kindling alight, and resurrect her whole.

And she knew her answer.

"I don't care, Rose. I don't know and I don't care." Her eyes caught each of theirs in turn, as she scanned the room looking for the one whom she wanted to tell the most.

_Edward._

He was nowhere to be seen.

"_Edward?"_

With sudden clarity she remembered the defeated look on his face as Rose spoke, and the dull 'thunk' his head made against the wall as she whispered, _"I don't know."_

_Oh, no._

"Oh, Goddamnit," Rosalie muttered.

"He popped, didn't he?" Emmett looked thoughtful but not upset. "It's about damn time."

"I don't understand – Edward wanted to come –"

"I think we've established that what Edward says and what Edward means aren't always the same thing." Jasper rasped dryly. "He's been about ready to burst since he laid eyes on you again well nigh a month ago."

"He's a traitor, you know," Rose offered helpfully. "Eats him up inside, that does."

Esme's arm tightened around Bella. "Now, Rose –" she admonished, as Emmett snorted.

"Nah," said Emmett, shaking his head. "He's just embarrassed. Poor Edward's spent the last fifty or so years being perfect. This is his first disaster since, well, ever."

Carlisle rested his hand gently on Bella's shoulder. "It hurts when one falls off the pedestal of their own making. Of all of us, Edward has had perhaps the most difficult life – being alone in a family full of lonely couples. His transgression with you, and by association, with us, well . . . " He broke of thoughtfully, turning his gaze to Emmett and Jasper. They nodded silently, flickering quietly out of the room. "We can't rightfully demand punishment for him when he has done it so well for himself."

Carlisle's voice was sad, the usually harmonic tones ringing harshly with something else.

_Guilt, _Bella realized. _He feels guilty for Changing him. Poor Carlisle. _

"Edward saw that, didn't he? Before he, um, left?"

Carlisle's eyes widened for a moment in surprise, as he gathered the true meaning of her question.

"Yes," he said softly. "I'm afraid he did." He looked down at Bella sadly. "I am a selfish man, Bella. I cannot say I regret Edward's life, or his companionship, because those were things that eased the painful solitude that I felt – and he did become a friend I delighted in. But to take his life, to take his _death _away from him for my own pleasure . . . that I will feel guilty for every day of my existence. Now more than ever."

Behind them the fire crackled dully as Carlisle struggled to shape the words of his own shame. It was a strange thing, seeing him so uncertain, and Bella was suddenly grateful for their years apart. For the passage of time meant she could see them now, in all their flaws, and, finally, in her own way feel an equal. They had all fallen in their own way – and had she seen it still wrapped in the naivety of her youth and infatuation, it could very well have shattered her. Still, she felt her foundation tremble.

"Because even though he would have long been dead and buried had I let him go, in his human form he could have given you all those things, and I have given him the curse of knowing the difference."

He looked at Bella beseechingly, as if he were willing her to understand all the ways in which he had gone so horribly wrong, as if his own guilt could absolve that of his son's. Rosalie came to stand by him then, grasping his hand as it dropped from Bella's shoulder.

"Bella, Edward never came back to us after Alice killed Victoria. Up until a month ago he avoided every one of us but Carlisle." Esme's voice sounded so very strange in Bella's ear as it rested against her hollow chest. As if she had stuck her head inside a bell, and let her own words strike the tone. "And even then, he only saw Edward a handful of times."

"Edward never really came back," said Alice softly. "Even when we finally saw him last month. Even when we knew. Whatever came home from Alaska, that wasn't him."

Emmett and Jasper breezed through the door, bringing in the smell of the forest and wet snow fall on their clothes.

Their eyes fell on her, and instantly Bella knew her task.

"Bella, I am so sorry," Carlisle murmured. "I have no right to ask anything of you. None of us do. But Edward won't come back for anyone but you."

_I just got here, _a small voice inside her whispered.

Carlisle must have sensed her silent protest, because he reached out and drew her into his arms, embracing her for the first time in years.

"Do you love him?" he whispered quietly, just for her.

Bella leaned into his chest, feeling more certain than she had in years. "With all my heart."

"Then go to him." Carlisle pulled back, placing his hands on her shoulders in a gentle entreaty. "Help him be whole, Bella. He needs you. More than you will ever know."

Emmett held out a hand to her.

"You'll need someone to show you the way. Did you bring cold weather gear with you?"

Bella nodded slightly. "It's in the car."

"Let's get you ready then. This night isn't going to get better for waiting."

Carlisle let go of her then, and the rest of the family embraced her in turn, an odd sort of invocation: as if she were a vessel to be imbued with their hope and affection, carrying it away into the mountain fastness; to be poured out in the unknown darkness with the blood of her own sacrifice.

"God be with you, Bella," Carlisle said at last.

"Edward is a right idiot sometimes, but he is my brother, and I can't help but love him." Rosalie followed Bella as she walked to the door, almost as if she were stalking her, looking for weakness. "He made an awful mistake leaving you, but so help me God if you break his heart I swear to you I will kick the head right off your body."

"_Rose!" _Carlisle and Esme's voices harmonized oddly in parental outrage. She ignored them.

The two women looked at each other for a long moment, golden eyes staring into brown; both appraising, both earnest; and then Rosalie's face softened, twisting into a wry smile.

"If Edward breaks yours again, it's his head I'll be kicking."

X X X X X

Emmett took her as far as he dared without alerting Edward to his presence.

"Can't he 'hear' you?" Bella had asked as they stepped off the back porch, adjusting the fit of the headlamp he had given her.

Emmett had simply tapped his nose in a gesture morbidly reminiscent of Santa Clause, and grinned wickedly at her. "I have my ways," he said conspiratorially. Something about his tone made her strangely glad that he did not elaborate.

Running alongside Emmett on the tiny deer track that wound up the hillside behind the Cullen's home was nothing like her days of being packed around with Edward as a young girl. At first she was surprised that he did not just haul her under his arm and heave her bodily into whatever direction Edward had gone, but as Emmett took her gloved hand in his, Bella felt a surge of gratitude for his deliberate show of equanimity.

Together they ran along the narrow trail, Emmett's pace mindful and deliberate while Bella stepped carefully within the lighted path of the headlamp.

The air was thick and wet here, with none of the mountain dryness Bella was accustomed to. It clung to her, laden with salt from the ocean, sinking heavily in her lungs, slowing her steps even as the trees thinned.

"Where are we going?" she managed to ask, when Emmett paused for a moment. She heard him take a deep breath – tasting the air, no doubt.

"Did they tell you about Edward?" In the glow of her headlamp Emmett's face was starkly white, his eyes dark, and strangely flat, while his lips glistened Kabuki red. He reached down and flipped the light off. "Maybe three miles north of where we are as the crow flies there's an old fire lookout. After Alice . . . well, old Edward exiled himself up there. Five years, Bella. Five years in his own head, getting stranger and sadder . . . " As Bella's eyes adjusted in the soft violet glow of the clouds she could see the sad line of Emmett's mouth. "It's not that long in the scheme of things, I suppose, but it is when you can't sleep, and all you have is your own guilt to keep you company. That's why I can't hold all this against him – the scrawny bastard is hard enough on himself as it is."

His shadowed eyes met hers in the dim light, willing her to understand.

"I'm guessing he went there. That's where his track is leading anyways." Emmett took her hand again. "I can take you just a bit farther without him hearing us, and then you're on your own." He squeezed her fingers encouragingly. "Ready?"

Bella nodded. She left the headlamp off.

X X X X X

True to his word, Emmett left her about a mile further up the trail, on a narrow saddle between two very large upheavals of granite and alpine scrub. Her ribs ached from where he had grabbed her as she had scrambled along side him, murmuring, _"Jump"_ in her ear and they cleared a void far beyond the capabilities of her own legs.

_And that's what if feels like to fly._

Bella rubbed her side surreptitiously, peering into the darkness below her while a growing wind lifted her hair.

"_He's there. Upwind of us – well, as up as he can be down there. Good luck, Bella."_ And with a squeeze of her shoulders and a peck on her temple, Emmett had vanished into the night.

"Down there," Bella muttered, looking into what appeared to be nothing. "Right."

Grimly, she switched her headlamp back on, stepping carefully down in the tiny crescent of light it threw at her feet. It was still snowing heavily, the wind whipped flakes pelting around her like frozen moths.

She was descending into some kind of chute, the sole purpose of which seemed to be to funnel great blasts of air up the hill at her, threatening to knock her off her feet as they skittered over the loose stones that hid, treacherous, under the new snowfall. The sound of it wailed about her ears, taunting her with secret voices and whispered incantations; while with every step the snow fell faster, and the wind worked it into the gaps in her collar, the ends of her sleeves, and, very considerately, up her nose, which began to run most indelicately.

The tiny beacon of her headlamp showed nothing but a blurring white in the gathering storm, and Bella realized that she was, effectively blind.

"Brilliant idea, Swan," she groused to herself. "Run off into a storm you have no business being in. I can't see _shit!"_

Her last epithet was punctuated by an undignified squeak, as she stepped on something particularly slippery and lost her footing, landing with a thump on her backside. Reaching down to grasp the offending object and hurl it deservedly into the dark night, her fingers brushed against something that was most definitely not a rock.

It was a boot. One that she had seen tapping nervously on the bright wood floors in the house somewhere down the mountain; eagerly stomping the gas pedal while the Mustang roared down the highway – Edward's boot. The laces were gone, but it was too new looking, and too dry to have been out in the cold for long.

"_Edward."_ The boot lay guiltily in her lap, as though it were ashamed it had been separated from its wearer, wherever he may have gone.

_Somewhere down there is a vampire wearing only one boot, and here I sit, blind as a bat. _Bella sighed in exasperation.

"_Oh for fuck's sake," _she muttered and hauled herself to her feet. "EDWARD!"

The wind caught her voice, muffling it in the snow. If he answered, she doubted she could even hear him. Carefully, she began picking her way down once more.

And then she heard it, faintly on the wind, _"Bella."_

For a moment the snow abated, and she could see a vague dark hummock several yards off. Even if he was not there, Bella thought she could at least get her bearings, and hopefully, wipe her nose before the damn thing got frostbite and fell off. Eagerly, she made her way toward it, slipping and scrambling across the terrain, until at last she came to a halt beneath an over-hang on the leeward side.

The dark haven underneath was already occupied.

Nestled in the farthest corner was a crouched figure. His back was to her, his head pressed into his knees as he wrapped his arms around them.

_Edward._

Even in the uncertain light of her tiny lamp, Bella could see that he was crying. His shoulders wracked with silent sobs while his hands fisted in the ruined fabric of his jeans.

Bella was torn. Part of her wanted to go to him, to pull him into her arms and take his sorrow into her own breast, while the other part wanted to chuck the boot she was holding at his head and then sit down and weep herself.

_I'm so tired._

In the end, Edward spared her the decision, his choked voice barely audible over the roaring wind.

"Rose is right, you know." Edward's voice was muffled in his knees. He had yet to look at her. "About all of those things. I can never be a man for you, never give you children." He choked on a sob. "I can't even grow old with you."

Edward hunched his body even further. "I'm not whole, Bella. I have nothing to offer you – nothing but death."

"Oh Edward," Bella whispered, and then gasped when he turned.

Edward was _filthy. _His clothes were torn, smeared with mud and wet bark, and his hair lay plastered, lank and sticky against his skull. But it was his eyes that were the most shocking.

Flat, and feral and altogether dead they stared back at her, seeing, but not really seeing her.

The light of the headlamp flickered over their lifeless depths, catching on the brilliant sheen of liquid that seeped out of his left eye, and that was when Bella noticed that his retina had ruptured, if that were possible, and the inky fluid flooded his entire cornea.

"_Jesus," _she breathed. Gingerly, Bella knelt in front of him, trying to edge herself out of the falling snow as best she could. Tentatively, she brushed away the dirt smeared on his cheekbone, avoiding the trail of poison that wept from Edward's wounded eye. It looked like tears, but shone oddly in the artificial light, heavy and thick against Edward's pale skin, like liquid opals.

He shivered at her touch, leaning into her hand just the littlest bit as his eyes flickered closed; and when he opened them again, Bella thought she saw a spark in their depths.

"I'm sorry," Edward murmured. "I'm so sorry. I took every thing. I hurt you. I hurt them." He was rocking slightly. "But god help me I want you – more than anything in my life."

His hands slid up to grab her wrists as she cradled his cheeks. "You are everything, Bella. Light and happiness and hope. I am nothing without you." His face twisted. "But I don't deserve you. I've done nothing to earn your esteem, let alone your heart. I've lied, I've destroyed the happiness of those I loved. All because I'm afraid that you won't want me."

Edward shifted so he was kneeling, his grip still strong on Bella's wrists, pulling her close; knee to knee, hip to hip, so that her belly pressed against his with each breath she took. "I want to be someone you want," he whispered. "I want you to want me as much as I do you –"  
"Then why did you run?" Bella leaned back to look him in the eye. The headlamp slipped off her head, leaving them in darkness. She felt Edward's nose trace against her jaw, and her body began to tingle.

"Because," he breathed against the sensitive skin of her throat, "you consume me Bella. So much that tonight I was ready to forsake my whole family, and be a traitor ten times over if it meant I could be with you. And I was ashamed. What kind of son am I, what kind of brother, if I would forsake all that for a future I'm not even certain of?" His lips brushed over her pulse. "I don't know what you want, Bella. I don't know if it's only this –" his hands slipped low on her waist, lifting her, forcing her breasts against his chest beneath her heavy coat. "Or if you can ever love me in spite of who I am."

His words tickled against her skin, trickling down her spine, making all of her nerves come alive. Bella could feel the slow beat of her heart, throbbing against Edward's sternum, and the warmth that spread, despite the coldness of the night, deep and low inside her, making all her joints loose as he held her close to his firm body. He smelt of incense and sin, and the giant purple lilies that Renee used to grow in the back yard in Phoenix.

_You consume me._ How could he not know that the very thought of him set her aflame?

"Edward," she whispered, her mouth next to his ear. "I've wanted you since I first laid eyes on you. Every breath, every dream has been for you since I learned your name. I am yours. I will always be yours. And when I die, and all I am is dust, that dust will want you, too." She reached up then and gripped his ears, pulling his face before hers in the darkness. "I love you. I will always love you."

And when his lips touched hers, she knew it would be forever.

X X X X X

It was a rough scramble back up the hill. The snow had fallen over wet ground, freezing it, and leaving a treacherous slick of ice hidden beneath a layer soft white. Edward held Bella's hand as she slipped and giggled, the cold and exhaustion making her giddy.

Finally Edward slipped an arm around her waist to steady her as they made their way laboriously back to the trail.

"How did you know where to find me?" Now they were out from their shelter, he had to fairly shout in her ear.

"Emmett helped me. He said you wouldn't be able to –" she broke off with a yelp as Edward stumbled, dragging her to her knees.

"Did he say anything else?" Edward's voice sounded strained.

"No, why?"

Edward did not answer, but as he helped Bella to her feet, she thought she heard him mutter, "Thank God."

X X X X X

The home of Edward's exile was a strange place indeed. Emmett had not been exaggerating when he told Bella that Edward had isolated himself from everyone.

After a considerable climb in what amounted to be almost total darkness – Edward said the light of the headlamp made it hard for him to see, although Bella was certain he just wanted to stare at her uninhibited – they reached what appeared to be a sheer rock face. Edward snapped the light on for a moment, gesturing for Bella to look up. Illuminated in the meager beam of the headlamp, Bella could see that crouched atop the rocky promontory there was a boxy little building, its dark, square lines sharp against the jagged landscape.

It was a tiny, human eyrie: _Edward's fire lookout._

"Please tell me there's heat." Gore-Tex and wool could only keep out the cold for so long, and Bella was all too familiar with what qualified for insulation in forestry service buildings – single pane windows, a musty wool blanket, and a bottle of cheap whiskey if one was lucky.

She doubted Edward had any whiskey.

Edward grinned at her, his teeth brilliant in the artificial light, and in a fluid practiced movement, he pulled down a retractable ladder from somewhere far above, and then they were climbing, up into the night sky.

Bundled quickly inside, Edward shuffled her through the darkened main room – the only room – moving so quickly she had barely enough time to register that he was pulling up a section of the floor, revealing a dimly lit spiral stone staircase; and then she was going down again, past narrow windows and glowing plaster walls into –

"A Hobbit hole!"

Edward shot her a pained look.

It _was_ very much like something out of Tolkein. The stairs opened into what was a remarkably open space, for being hollowed out of the inside of a mountain. Warm wood beams curved upwards from the floor, meeting in a cantilevered arch above them. Nestled against one wall was a tiny kitchenette, and through a doorway on the opposite side, she could just make out the inside of a bathroom.

Though her ears ached with cold, she could still just barely hear the quiet hum of a furnace.

"Every place we own has to be re-sellable." Edward seemed to hear her unspoken question. "Even imaginary creatures need a bathroom."

Something about his tone caught her attention, but it was just at that moment that the floodgates of Bella's sinuses opened, and she simultaneously began to shiver.

"Shower, Bella," said Edward tersely. "The whole family will have my head if I let you freeze."

Bella thought it best not to mention that Rosalie would be first in line.

X X X X X

And that was how Bella found herself wearing one of Edward's button down shirts, kneeling on the upstairs floor, toweling her hair dry after a scalding hot shower. Edward was taking considerably longer with his own, but he did have roughly half a mountain to scrub off himself.

Seeing him under the bright light as she stepped out of the bathroom, he had looked ghastly. His shirt hung in tatters, exposing a broad expanse of chest, while his damp hair hung lank and bedraggled over the smooth plane of his forehead.

It was his injured eye that had looked the worst. Swollen and weeping venom, and thoroughly black, it rendered the rest of the grime adhered to his face wholly unremarkable.

"Jesus, Edward." Bella had started toward him, completely forgetting she was wearing only a towel. Unlike her, Edward did not. His good eye opening wide, and looking utterly scandalized, Edward had thrust a shirt at her, and pushed past her into the bathroom without a word, locking the door quickly behind him.

Nonplussed, Bella had pulled the shirt on over her towel, and made her way back up the stairs to explore the room above.

The upstairs space was quite remarkable. Nothing remained of the old fire post, except the floor to ceiling windows that made up the exterior walls. In order to preserve what must have been a spectacular view in the daylight, the furnishings were limited to a low table, a knee high bank of shelves along one of the walls, and a large futon mattress rolled out in the center of the room.

All bore the markings of a hasty attempt at tidying up – no doubt while she was in the shower. Random bits of paper and hastily stacked books were stuffed into the shelves, while the thin film of dust on the table's surface bore the tell tale swipes of a shirtsleeve carelessly scrubbed across it.

So now she sat, waiting for the next development, while Edward and his awful eye attempted to make themselves presentable in the room below.

Eventually, she made her way to the futon, wrapped herself in one of the puddle blankets she found there, and lay down and waited.

She must have dozed off, for the next thing she knew she was awakened to a gentle shove of her shoulder.

"Bella? I need you to help me."

Edward was kneeling next to her, his now clean hair gleaming in the soft light shining from the lamp on the floor next to the futon. Blearily, Bella sat up, gathering her blanket around her waist.

"What is –" She broke off as she looked up at him, and the fresh stream of poison trickling down his face. "Oh."

"I've got something in my eye. That's why it won't, um, heal. I can feel it, but I can't see it." He gently grasped her hand. "I need you to be my eyes for a me."

"What do you need me to do?"

Edward took the hand he was holding and brought it gently to his lips, and Bella was suddenly very aware she was not wearing any underwear. His voice was low when he answered.

"Show my hands where they need to go." His mouth tickled against her fingertips, and Bella felt the jolt of it in her stomach.

She rose to the edge of the futon on her knees, and the long tails of the shirt she was wearing whispered around her thighs. Her nipples pricked and tightened against the soft material.

Gingerly, Bella took Edward's face in her hands, tilting it toward the light. Carefully, she pried his eyelids apart, and wiped away the venom as best she could with her shirtsleeve. It did not take long to find the source of his trouble. Nestled in the outside corner of Edward's eye was a large piece of what appeared to be granite.

"How in the hell did you do that?"

Edward barked out a rueful laugh. "I'm immortal, not impervious. Now, will you please help me?" He tugged impatiently on the hand that was not holding his eye open.

"Sorry."

Getting the shard of granite out proved to be an awkward business. Venom, it seemed, was very slippery. Every time Bella thought Edward had just about got it, something would slip, and the messy business would begin again. At long last, after a good deal of poking and prodding, and muffled swearing on both their parts, they were finally able to work the offending stone to the surface of Edward's eye, where it emerged with an audible pop, landing neatly in Bella's palm.

"Got it," she crowed triumphantly.

Edward ducked his head, looking down at the piece of rock in her hand. When he raised his eyes, both were clear, though the now healed left eye remained a shade darker than the other.

"Thank you," he said softly.

Bella wiped off his face with the end of her shirtsleeve. "You're welcome."

Their eyes met, and held for a long moment. In the long silence, Bella found her self suddenly very aware of the way Edward's hair curled, just the tiniest bit, behind his ears, the long, strong length of his thighs as they brushed against her own, the heavy pounding of her heart, and the aching hardness of her nipples as they pressed against his chest.

It was as though every molecule within her had come alive – as though every cell, every nerve, every round red corpuscle that coursed beneath her skin had awakened with the clamoring desire for the man in front of her.

Edward.

The man she loved.

The man who had saidhe was consumed by her.

The man who she was finally ready to draw down onto her own earthen pyre, and let the licking flames of love and lust and unending want burn them both to ash.

"I love you," Bella whispered into his hair. "I love you," against his cheek. "I love you I love you I love you."

She clenched his collar in her hands as one of his own slipped down to the small of her back, pulling her impossibly close, while the other reached over and turned out the light.

"Edward?" she breathed in the darkness, feeling his hands grip at her waist, bunching the material of her shirt – his shirt – and then sliding down to the bare skin of her thighs.

"Bella," he murmured, his lips against her throat. One of his hands trailed under her shirt, ghosting gently over the smooth skin of her belly, reaching up to cup her breast, rolling her hardened nipple in the center of his palm. She arched her back, pushing herself into his grasp, pressing her lips against his temple, desperate for his kiss.

His mouth met hers then, hard and desperate and compelling, and suddenly they were tumbling back on the mattress, Edward's hands fumbling with the buttons of her shirt, his knees falling between her parted thighs.

Somewhere in the back of Bella's mind, a tiny plaintive voice was shouting that everything was moving too fast, too soon, that there was too much left unsaid, but the burning want that raced through her blood, and Edward's mouth on her bare breast quickly silenced it.

He was everywhere, his lips, his touch, the smell of him, and her breath came in choking sobs as she strained her body against his. Her fingers plucked at his clothes, pushing his shirt over his head, letting her palms find the smooth skin of his chest, the flex and pull of his muscles, down his stomach to the waistband of his pants.

As her thumb brushed over his hipbone, Edward stilled, one of his hands reaching down to grasp hers.

His breath was coming as rapidly as hers, and the hand that held hers trembled. When he spoke, his voice was low and strained.

"Are you sure? We can't take this back, Bella."

Bella chuckled darkly, feeling Edward tense as her belly pressed against his.

"I've been out of take-backs since I met you, Edward Cullen." She rose on her elbows, pressing her breasts against his bare chest, letting her tongue trace his Adam's apple. "I want this. I want you."

Edward shivered, and tipped her back gently onto the mattress, his mouth next to her ear.

"I don't want just one night, Bella," he said intently. "I want every night."

The words washed over her skin, settling warm and low between her thighs, and the rasp of fabric that scraped against her yearning flesh was suddenly too much, the five years between them too long, with Edward burdened with the weight of a century in solitude, and then they were both pushing the material down, and she was grasping his hair and gritting her teeth and whispering, "Then show me. _Show me,"_ over and over again, while his hands, his lips, his tongue made every inch of her his.

And then he was above her, strong and fierce as his slender hips nestled between her thighs. His hands reached for hears, drawing them out of his hair and pinning them down on the bed up above her head, so that her whole body was drawn up taut and she could feel him, all of him, and she knew that he was as desperate and wanting as she.

"Bella – I can't – I don't think I can– " his voice was choked and gasping, and he was hard against her.

"I know," her voice throbbed with the beat of her heart. "Just be Edward. Just be."

"I love you," he murmured against her pulse. "God, how I love you." He kissed her, slowly, sweetly, though he trembled against her, his fingers weaving with hers above her head. He kissed her until she was dizzy, and aching against him, and she arched her back, lifting her hips, and his mouth was on hers and then Edward shifted, pressing himself into her with a groan.

It hurt. It _hurt._ Her body flinched, and she instinctively parted her legs, trying to get traction with her heels to escape the painful intrusion, but it only drew him deeper.

Edward buried his face in her neck with a deep guttural sound, and she felt his lips nip sharply at her skin.

_"Be_ _still,"_ he hissed, and there was blood on the air, slick in between them, her blood spilt for him. For a moment they stilled, the air thick and charged with lust and death, their breasts heaving, their bodies all the length of them joined, and then he was moving against her, hard and strong, and Edward. She felt herself flush in spite of the pain, the heat of it spreading down to her breasts, and down low between her thighs, mingling with the ache, feeling Edward pressing, possessing, deep inside her, and Bella lifted her hips, taking him, bringing him home as only she could, again and again, until he shuddered against her with a muffled cry, his body going limp against hers.

Bella drew the blanket over them both, kissing Edward's hair with a wild tenderness, and rested her cheek against his shoulder. As the blank fog of exhaustion settled over her, she felt Edward shift onto his side, and draw her close, rubbing his nose behind her ear, his arms wrapping around her waist, cradling the thing they had created between them that night: _hope. _And she smiled at the thought, the word sweet on her lips, as sleep took her, and she slipped away into the dreamless night.

**Yikes. That's all I can say. I feel like I had a knock down drag out fight with this one. And, um, I hope it worked. Let me know about that, yeah?**

**Thank you all so very much for all the enthusiasm and support you have shared with me over the life of this story. I've done my best to thank everyone where I can, and answer questions as they come, but if I've missed a few, I do sincerely apologize. I read each and every comment and take every one of them to heart. Thank you.**

**That being said, it's not quite over yet, folks. Remember Jake-dog and Dr. R? They still have a part to play in these shenanigans. See you all soon!**


	27. Pygmalion and Galetea

**Copious groveling can be found in the Author's Note at the bottom of my very tardy offering.**

Bella awoke in the half dawn, the purple dome of the sky creeping bruised and grey through the windows. She had slept fitfully, her body alert even in slumber to Edward's presence. They lay now, curled together like two commas, breathing in careful harmony.

At last Bella shifted, pressing her backside against Edward's thighs.

She was _sore. _It was an oddly triumphant feeling.

Watching Edward tremble and come undone in her arms, knowing that it was she that had made him so, had been a powerful thing. She had lived the years without him, thinking that her blood had been the thing that had made him vulnerable, but now, the knowledge that it was her body that had made him lose himself entirely . . .Bella flushed, and squirmed as her belly twisted with a pleasant ache.

"Penny for your thoughts, Miss Swan." Edward's voice was low and gravelly in her ear.

"That was nothing like they say it is in books."

Edward chuckled, tightening his arms about her. "No, it wasn't. Thank God." His lips were soft on her neck, his tongue tracing over the faint red bruise they had made the night before. One of his hands slipped low on her abdomen, pressing gently against the aching caused by his own inexperienced movements. It was meant to be comforting, but the gesture flooded Bella's mind with images of hands caressing over rounded bellies, and the cradling of infants at milk-full breasts; and she was suddenly very aware of the stickiness between her thighs.

Her eyes popped open wide.

"Edward?" Her hand clutched his, stilling the movement. "You can't get me pregnant can you?"

"I – no." He sounded bemused, more concerned by her panicked tone than the actual question. "Venom contains a genetic imperative, yes, but it behaves more like a virus than it does gametes." His fingers began tracing a lazy circle on the tender skin below her navel. "Your body would reject anything that would come of that combination." Bella gasped as his hand slipped just the littlest bit lower. "Though I won't lie, I don't mind trying,"

"Edward . . . " sentience was rapidly heading south. _"Edward."_

"Hmm?" His eyes met hers lazily. Somehow she had made it onto her back, with Edward once again on top of her, his mouth on her nipple.

"I _need _a shower."

He grinned down at her wolfishly, rising to his knees between her spread thighs.

"I'll help."

X X X X X

As Edward started the water for the shower, Bella paused to look at herself in the mirror. Her hair was an impressive nest of tangles, her lips were swollen and red, and her eyes were a bit darker than usual.

She dropped the blanket away from her body. It was as smooth and unchanged as it had been the day before. The triple line of scars across her abdomen were the only mark on her pale skin – save for the strawberry colored bruise Edward had left on her neck the night before. Nothing looked the way she felt.

Edward stepped behind her, the smooth skin of his bare chest whispering against her shoulder blades. Gently, he lifted the mass of her hair off her neck, and placed a soft kiss against her shoulder.

Bella met his eyes in the mirror. In the cornea of his now healed eye she could see a shimmering bolt of silver through the gold – a tiny fracture in his immortal façade.

It was ironic, she thought, that he would bear the only permanent mark of the night before.

"I thought I would look different," Bella murmured.

She felt as though the loss of her virginity should be visible – some tangible sign of the way her body felt – bruised, possessed, _taken, _and yet ultimately powerful. But her reflection showed none of that; only the same young woman she had grown accustomed to seeing in the fleeting moments when she would stop to stare.

"You are different," Edward whispered. "So different. You were beautiful when I met you. But that was nothing compared to when I saw you again last month. And now –" he smiled wryly – "you've ruined me for all other women for eternity."

_And that is a very long time._

"I hope that's a compliment, Edward."

Edward snorted in her hair, and turned her face to his. "I assure you, Bella, it very much is."

And then he kissed her, drawing her into the shower, letting the warm water trickle into their open mouths.

"You're a pearl," he whispered against her lips. "All the years of my life I spent alone in the cold and filth, until the world opened itself up and gave me you."

His tongue brushed sweetly against hers, while his fingers traced a burning pattern of desire against her swollen skin until Bella felt as though her entire body would well up and brim over.

"My pearl – my own heart." She heard the words tight across her breast, gentle as a feather as Edward's hands followed the contours of her body, spreading soap and tenderness over her skin. She felt translucent, transparent even, as though she too were a bubble, full up with love for him, one more touch and she would burst, painting the walls, Edward, the very world with the raw emotion that surged within her blood.

His hands glided over her with the falling water, stripping away the final layers of reticence and grief, the blood of her surrendered innocence, peeling them away like an onion, exposing the soft pink quick of her, molding her anew, making her his.

Edward's eyes held hers, dark and compelling, and Bella could not force herself to look away. Something primal shivered between them, almost visible, the desire rolling off their bodies in waves, and she reached out, letting her palms find their own path, one curling around his neck, while the other traced across the broad span of his chest, feeling the spring of his ribs, the flat line of his abdomen, and down, tentatively down in the slick water. Edward tensed, letting out a choking breath as her hand closed around him.

For a moment she was touching him, ginger and inexperienced, and then Edward was lifting her in his arms, pressing her against the shower wall as his lips found hers.

His touch was everywhere, her breasts, her belly, between her thighs, electrifying her, while his urgent kisses stole the breath from her body. Dimly, Bella heard his hands scrape along the wall as he fought to steady himself, scrabbling with the curtain as she wrapped her legs around his waist, and then Edward lost his balance completely, and they tumbled out of the shower.

They landed on the floor with a sodden thump, Bella straddling Edward as he sprawled on his back, both blinded by the wet length of her hair. She had barely enough time to clear her eyes before Edward was rolling them both, pinning her to the bathmat with his lean body, jerking her legs roughly over his hips, and taking her in one powerful stroke.

Her back arched up off the floor, her mouth opening in a silent "oh" as Edward moved inside her, deep and deliberate, pushing her mindlessly past the pain and the sting of her freshly lost virginity, his body pressing hers into something white hot and terrifying. With each thrust she could feel a little bit of her consciousness begin to unravel, flashes of light flickering in the corners of her eyes, while a rushing pressure began to build down low in her belly. Desperate to contain the sensation, she dug her heels into the back of his thighs, her short nails scraping against the smooth skin of his back and she sank her teeth into his shoulder.

Edward growled something unintelligible against her throat, pressing her thighs flat to the floor as they moved together, and suddenly everything exploded. Sparks and white and clenching and soaring and she would have screamed if her lungs could have shaped the sound. Bella felt her hands slap flat on the floor as her body rose and writhed against him, until Edward shuddered above her, tensing with a hissing groan, and slumped against her as everything went black.

X X X X X

She came to slowly, the trickling sound of the running shower dragging her reluctantly from the warm, pulsing darkness where her consciousness had fled. The acrylic nap of the bathmat was scratchy against her damp skin, but she could not bring herself to care.

Edward lay flopped beside her, one arm flung over his eyes, the rapid rise and fall of his chest the only sign of life.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered hoarsely. Gingerly, he raised his arm, peering at Bella blearily with one eye. "Will it always be like that?"

Bella shivered and flexed, feeling limp as a boneless fish, and grinned at the sight of him as he lay next to her, naked on the bathroom floor, looking stunned and helpless, and thoroughly _had._

"God, I hope so." She reached out a numb hand, clumsy in her torpor, wiping the draggled hair off of Edward's brow, giggling when he rolled and licked the inside of her wrist.

They were a very long time in the shower.

X X X X X

Sometime later, the protestations of Bella's empty stomach overrode the exploration of their newly discovered bodies. Now wrapped in several towels, and blissfully relaxed, Bella sat between Edward's spread legs on the futon mattress as he worked the snags out of her wet hair.

On her lap she carefully balanced the MRE that Edward had rummaged out of the tiny kitchen cupboard. Heedless of his dour warnings that her meal probably dated back to the Korean War, Bella plowed through the miraculously hot scrambled eggs and hash browns, as well as something that she was fairly certain resembled bacon. It tasted of salt and cardboard, and ill concealed mystery, but Bella was too hungry to care. She chewed happily, oblivious to everything except the clamoring of her still empty stomach, and the languorous stupor that was settling in her bones.

Abruptly the tugging at her hair stopped, and a pale, fastidious finger reached over her shoulder and poked dubiously at the aforementioned meat.

"Congratulations, Bella, I think you've just eaten part of a saddle."

Bella rapped Edward's knuckles with her fork.

"Shut up, Edward. I didn't see you rushing out to find me something better." Her stomach rumbled at him in grudging solidarity.

"I'm afraid anything I would bring back would be a little too 'fresh' for your taste." Edward grinned at her, and tapped her nose with his finger. "If it's any consolation, whatever you're eating has probably been dead for at least thirty years."

"You're horrible."

"Fortunately for me there's no accounting for _your_ taste." Edward squeezed Bella's waist roughly, planting a wet kiss on her neck. "I've been dead much longer, and you seem to like me just fine."

Bella laughed outright. "I do indeed. Especially when you feed me."

Edward resumed combing, and a peaceful silence settled over them. As Bella ate, she looked around the tiny outlook in which Edward had entombed himself. In the light of day the room showed only the vestiges of dust and disuse – revealing nothing of the years Edward had spent there in his exile.

"Did you really just stay up here after . . .?"

Edward let out a heavy sigh. Bella looked down at the bare foot that rested against her shin.

_Even his toes have a certain elegance to them,_ she thought dispassionately. She wondered if Edward hadn't just lain on the floor in his living tomb, an undead Tutankhamen, waiting for the long years of the world to be spent. Absently, she reached a finger out and traced the graceful arch of his foot.

Edward flinched, and grabbed Bella's hands, pulling them against her stomach.

"None of that if you want me to talk," he said with mock severity.

Bella leaned back against him, settling her bottom firmly between his thighs, and Edward rested his chin on her shoulder.

"There isn't much to tell," he said at last. "My family would tell you I have a flair for the dramatic . . . and I've learned to agree with them. I was pathetic, really. After Alice . . .with Victoria gone, I had no purpose. Before I had been able to comfort myself with the fact that even if I couldn't be with you, I could at least maybe protect you. But I even failed at that. And when you were gone without a trace, I had no way to get you back – or to go home."

Edward nuzzled his face into her neck, his arms tightening around her waist as though she suddenly might vanish as she had done those years ago.

"I had nothing left – I had betrayed you, and the family who loved me. And none of the courage to make it right. And coward that I was, I laid right here on the floor, day after day, waiting for the living blood to drain out of my body." His voice grew very soft, lost as he was in the memory. "I deliberately starved myself. It's true that vampires can't die – or really be hurt, but if we don't eat, or we can't, our impulses take over as our higher consciousness begins to fade. Kind of like hypothermia – the higher systems shut down to preserve the vital organs, but in our case, we become creatures of pure instinct in order to satisfy our bloodlust." Edward snorted humorlessly. "It's ironic that blood is what makes us civilized.

"So I stopped hunting in the hopes that the memories of you would fade, and that the pain of my thirst would someday be penance enough. I was wrong of course. As I grew weaker, the visions of you only grew stronger. I could hear your voice, taste you on the air, see the look on your face as I left you – and it drove me mad. Had any human ventured up here –" Edward broke off with a shudder. "I would not have been able to stop myself. And that would have been the end of the Edward you knew. I would have slipped utterly into violence, and fallen beyond any redemption you could have given me."

It was a fate Bella understood, for though the burning despair of her lost months had long ago faded, she too, knew what it was to look into the face of madness, when all the light in her world seemed to have gone. And she knew that only a gray haired, sharp-witted animal behaviorist and a large, hairy wolf beast had kept her from tipping over the brink into utter darkness.

"I hid from my family. I told them I could not bear to see them because they reminded me too much of you. And they, for the most part, were glad to stay away. But Carlisle knew what I was doing – he had tried it himself – and the danger I was in. He forced me to hunt when I would not." Edward's voice dropped, low and shameful. "Even when I savaged him, he took care of me. At my worst, he showed me nothing but love and compassion, though I did nothing to deserve it. I owe him my sanity – and you so much more – I don't know why or how you can love me, Bella, especially after all I've done –"

Bella cut him off, turning in his lap, and cupping his cheeks in her palm. "Edward, _stop._ What's done is done – for good or bad. I love you because it is what I was born to do. There is no one else in this life for me, and that's pretty much all there is to it. But I – we – can't live looking backwards this way. My eyes are open now, and I want to see what's next – and right now, all I can see is you."

Edward lifted her to her knees, so her eyes were level with his, the hope fairly rolling off him in waves.

"Does it bother you, then, that I can't give you children?" One hand slipped low, the broad pad of his thumb tracing the soft swell of her belly, ripe with promise, and full of life. Bella felt the tingle of it deep between her thighs.

Her body thrummed with possibility; and yet she felt nothing; no maternal clamoring, no desire to cradle a child of her own blood to her breast.

"Does it bother you that I don't want any?" She countered. "All my life I have been nothing – not a child, not a daughter – nothing but an inconvenience. I've never known what it is like to be loved as someone's own flesh and blood. But loving you – losing you and your family . . . I learned what I am capable of. I don't doubt my capacity to love, or that what I feel for the rest of your family is as powerful or true as if we shared the same blood." Bella pressed her lips gently against his. "It doesn't matter if I live a hundred years, or a hundred thousand, my answer will always be the same: I love you Edward, and I don't need a child born of our bodies to prove it."

Edward looked into her eyes a long moment, a soft look of wonderment on his face, before he pulled her flush against him, his arms wrapping tight around her as he nestled his cheek in her hair.

"_Thank you."_

X X X X X

There was no grand homecoming this time. Edward and Bella simply hiked down the mountain when the snow stopped falling, and walked hand in hand through the back door into the kitchen.

Carlisle was sitting alone at the island, sifting through a large stack of journals. He looked almost startled – as though he had not heard them coming – but he quickly gathered himself, rising to his feet, his face carefully schooled to blandness.

Bella could feel the weight of his gaze on their joined hands, as if the intensity of it would cause their skin to burst into flames, and then Edward shuffled his feet next to her, kicking the floor in a patently adolescent gesture.

She might have heard him whisper the word, _"Father,"_ though she could not be sure, but suddenly there was a flurry of movement beside her, as Edward's face crumpled, and Carlisle was wrapping Edward in his arms, embracing his prodigal son as he finally, _finally_ came home.

Edward's frame shuddered with great heaving breaths, and Bella felt the answering sting in her own eyes as she watched Carlisle comfort his son.

_I want that, too._

"There you are," he murmured into the riot of Edward's hair. "There you are."

Carlisle's eyes caught Bella's over Edward's shoulder.

"_Thank you," _his gaze seemed to say as he reached out, gathering her into the mess of arms and hair that was father and son.

And it was all simple then, as the rest of the family trickled in – soft smiles and gentle pecks and brotherly smacks – as though Edward and Bella had only been out of the room a moment, instead of missing entirely for the last five years.

X X X X X

A light breeze had built in the late afternoon, scouring out the clouds, leaving the night clear and dry. Taking advantage of the weather, Carlisle took Edward and his brothers out for a long hunt, promising to return him to Bella by the morning.

Esme and Rose had gone into town after Bella had horrified them both with the details of her earlier meal courtesy of Edward's kitchen. Not wanting her hospitality to fall under worse scrutiny, Esme had insisted it was necessary for an immediate restocking of her – very empty – pantry. Rose went with her. Bella guessed it was because the two women wanted to give her some time alone with Alice – and also perhaps owing to the fact that Bella had just handed her the keys to the Mustang.

The Cullen home was empty when night fell. Just above the horizon, a narrow sliver of the new moon pricked its way through the trees.

The pale moonlight reached out in narrow fingerlings, falling in mottled shadows on the Cullen's back deck. On a chaise lounge nudged up to the snow covered railing, Alice and Bella curled together beneath several comforters and an electric blanket, their heads tipped together as they looked up at the stars.

The constellations spun above them, sharp and remote in the velvet black.

Orion, Ursa, the North Star; how many eyes, Bella wondered, had turned to the utter vastness of the infinite dark, looking for some meaning, some reason, for their existence, some comfort in their future? How many had looked, and found nothing at all?

Bella listened to Alice's quiet breathing, and the soft hiss of her own pulse. All around them was still.

"Alice?"

The stars were bright pinpoints of light in Alice's eyes as the smaller woman turned, and suddenly Bella felt stretched very thin.

"Do you ever wonder what will happen when all the lights go out?"

Alice sighed, her fingers twining with Bella's under the blanket.

"Can I see the end, you mean?" She paused for a long moment. "I'm not sure. I get glimpses of things I can't recognize sometimes that I think might be in the future, but I can't be sure. So much of what I do _see _is subjective, and my interpretations are easily influenced by what I think should happen. I end up reading the stars, but they only tell me the natural course of things, and not what it might mean for us."

She squeezed Bella's hand, and nestled her head closer.

"In that sense, I'm as blind as you. But I take comfort in the fact that I'm not alone, and that the love I have for my husband is something that I will bear with me until whatever end comes – no matter what happens, either to me or to him."

"I'm scared, Alice." It felt good to say it. "I've spent the last five years building a life without him - without all of you. I was so certain of what I wanted then . . . but now . . . now I'm not so sure. I love Edward with all my heart, I always will. But this last month has been a lot to take in."

Alice smiled sadly at her.

"Loving someone is a risk, Bella. Nothing can be worse than losing them. But it's not really a life you're living if you don't take that chance."

Bella froze for a moment, the startling similarity between Alice's words and Dr. Reyerson's echoing strangely in the air between them.

"I know," she whispered. "I've had that empty life. It's not so long in comparison, but, Alice – I don't want to do that to Edward." The stars blurred as Bella's eyes began to flood with tears. "The idea of him being alone all those years . . . and that's what maybe Rose doesn't understand. It's not fair of me to expect Edward watch me experience all the things that he cannot. The ability to age, to have children, to _die –_ who's to say that he might not resent _me_ for being able to have those things?"

She wiped the dampness from her cheeks. As long as she was human, there would always be that gulf of experience dividing the two of them. And yet, there was much in the life she had made for herself that she was reluctant to leave behind.

"I love him, Alice. I can't bear the thought of leaving him alone in the dark."

Alice hugged her as best she could under the blankets, and Bella sniffled gratefully in her arms.

"Bella, I still can't see anything your future, and I'm glad of it. I don't want to be an Oracle anymore. But I don't need the Sight to tell you what you already know in your heart."

The darkness around them shifted. Though she heard no sound, Bella knew, as sure as she was breathing, that Edward was standing in the shadows. Every molecule in her being hummed with electricity; compelling her, drawing her to him. And in the brief scope of that moment, she knew what her choice would be.

"Your future is your own, Bella," said Alice softly as she slipped out from under the blankets, kissing her forehead gently. "All you have to do now is go to it."

**First off, I AM ALIVE. Second off, I am so very sorry for the wait. If it's any consolation, I was blessed with a holiday gift of the Mother of All Sinus Infections, with a side order of sick husband. Sanity became a scarcity to say the least. I can't thank all of you enough for all the kind and encouraging words you've sent me, as well as the gentle patience with which you have waited. I have been horribly remiss in answering my notes, but please believe that I read and treasured each one.**

**This chapter was difficult in the sense that these characters had a distinct idea of what they wanted to do, and it wasn't fitting with what I thought should happen. Funny, when I let them have at it, everything flowed a lot easier. Also, I've been mired in over a year of pathos - writing happy does not seem to come naturally. And I think I should clarify at this point, since there have been a few questions, there will be no pregnancy in this story. I've tried to eliminate that possibility as best I could - it's a plot line that just won't fit here. I think Edward and Bella have enough to deal with in this story as it is, poor things. Let me know how I did, yeah? **


	28. Moonlight Sonata

**Hai. I've missed you.**

The night was still, with a smooth blanket of snow showing stark white against the skeletal black silhouettes of the bowing trees. High up on the mountainside Edward could hear the voices of Carlisle and his brothers, urgent and exultant with the quickening of the hunt, the heady musk of an elk herd heavy on the air. He should have been running along side them, yearning as he was for their acceptance, as Edward was as yet unwilling to find relief in their ready forgiveness, but try as he might, he could not concentrate on the pursuit.

Instead, he found himself creeping through the timberline, attempting to untangle the jumble of thoughts that clouded his mind. The customary burn of the bloodlust was gone, replaced instead with the acute awareness of the way his clothes pressed against his skin, the gentle rasp of fabric a subtle reminder of the hot, silken flame of Bella's flesh as her naked body had moved against his. Edward shivered, though he was most certainly not cold. His memory was flooded with images; images of Bella transported, her eyes heavy lidded with lust; of Bella above him wild and uninhibited; round and soapy in the shower; split and ripe like the most luscious of fruits; a gorgeous blush settling duskily over her bare breasts; tight and arching beneath him as he thrust into her welcoming heat, over and over, mindless and helpless, until the dark wave took them both.

And he knew now that the reaction that had so terrified him when he first encountered her was not the awakening of his baser instincts, but a response that he had been too inexperienced to understand. It was not the need to answer the overwhelming call of her blood that made him want to sink his teeth into the soft skin of her throat – it was the primal desire to mark her, to claim her as his own before all, her body, her mind, tasting her, pouring himself into her until the edges of their separate beings blurred, until they merged together as one.

_Blood singer,_ Carlisle had called it, Edward knew now that the term was a poor approximation of what Bella's attraction really meant. _Heart singer,_ he would call her, _soul healer._ It had not been an exaggeration when he called her a pearl. Beautiful and unique, a precious gift made just for him.

He could only believe that he had been so made for her.

But Edward, being Edward, still doubted.

He had no time to indulge in that train of thought, as Emmett suddenly slammed into him from behind, chasing full tilt after a panicked bull elk. The impact sent them tumbling, spraying the drifts of snow like sea foam, until they came to rest beneath a large cedar.

"Christ, Edward, where are you tonight?" Emmett scrubbed the snow out of his face. "I _never_ get the drop on you like that."

Edward shrugged as he righted himself, carefully noncommittal. He felt as if he admitted to the rather tumultuous consummation of his and Bella's relationship he might sully it somehow – not to mention exposing himself to another round of merciless teasing from Emmett and Jasper.

There had already been enough "special flower" jokes about his own virginity to last Edward a thousand lifetimes.

Emmett looked at him long and searchingly, and then smirked, and punched Edward solidly in the shoulder.

_I thought so. _And then, aloud, "She's something else, is Bella."

Edward grunted, rubbing the spot where Emmett had hit him.

"She makes you better, I think. More transparent, at least." Emmett paused for a moment. "I hope she stays," he added fervently.

"I think she will," Edward picked a chunk of ice out of his ear. "I don't know why – I've certainly done nothing to deserve her."

"That's just the problem with you, Edward," Emmett grumbled in exasperation. "You always think you have to _do_ something in order for you to fit into other people's expectations. You did it with Carlisle and Esme, you did it with us, and Bella . . . Jesus Lord, I don't even know where to start."

Edward opened his mouth to protest, and then abruptly shut it: there was no defense against the truth.

"You never trusted her – that she loved you enough to see past what you – what _we_ are. You just assumed that because you hated yourself for not being human that she would eventually do the same." Emmett pondered a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm no expert, but living with a woman like Rose has taught me a few things. First off, no matter what, it's always your fault. Always. Second – and God help you if you didn't already learn this the hard way – never, _ever_ tell a woman you know what's best for her. You have to trust that Bella can decide for herself what's best for her, because that's what's best both of you."

_She's got a lot on her plate, you know. None of us ever had the choice._

Edward shuddered, shaking the last of the snow out of his hair. After all that had been said and done, it came down to the choice – of deciding between the relative peace of a brief human existence, or an eternity of bloodlust, violence and death.

"I hope she picks me." For once, Edward didn't care how pitiful it sounded.

"I hope she does, too." _For all our sakes._

They sat for a moment under the cedar's drooping branches, lost in the shared uncertain hope of the future, and the memories of lifetimes ago.

Finally, Emmett stood up, grabbing Edward by the elbow and lifting him to his feet.

"Think that elk is still anywhere in this territory?" Emmett didn't wait for Edward to answer, but instead yanked on his arm, pulling Edward willy-nilly after him, his laughing, easy breaths the only sound in the dark of the night.

X X X X X

Edward vaulted carefully over the railing onto the deck. His stomach was pleasantly weighted from the hunt; his senses sharpened infinitesimally from the fresh blood. The night seemed to shimmer around him as the moonlight sifted through the snow-covered branches, blue and cold and silver over his skin.

Bella and Alice were curled together on the far side of the open space, their voices soft in the freezing air.

Softly, so as not to disturb them, he sidled along the wall. He did not mean to eavesdrop, but he could not help but be curious.

It was his future, too, after all.

As if she heard him, Bella's eyes swiveled to his, finding him easily in the shadows. They fixed him with a steady gaze, full of decisive brilliance.

_I will go with you, _they said. _I will go with you into the darkness, and beyond. _

Something warm and light bloomed in his chest, filling him so full there was not room for air. And in that moment, he was certain he felt his dead heart beat.

_She wants to stay. _

_She wants _me_._

Alice slipped out from under the blankets, and stepped quietly to his side, laying a gentle hand on his arm, drawing him firmly back on the earth.

"_I love you, brother," _Alice whispered, hugging him until his ribs creaked. _"Be well."_

She clung to him for a moment, the kaleidoscope images of a hopeful future spinning in her mind, before letting him go, leaping nimbly over the railing, and vanishing into the still fastness of the night.

"How much did you hear?" Bella's voice throbbed in his ears.

"Enough." _Everything._

In the pale moonlight, Bella's skin was opalescent, the tiny blood vessels almost glowing as they pulsed through delicate webs beneath the surface; and the salt tracks of freshly shed tears glinted, sharp and crystalline down her cheeks.

_She looks like one of us,_ Edward thought. _ God, how I wish she were. _And he was pleasantly surprised to discover that he no longer felt guilty at the thought.

Abruptly the question swam into his mind: _Exactly how did one ask their lover _when_ they wanted to die? _

Would it be some macabre domestic scene? Would he simply greet Bella cheerfully one morning over coffee and eggs: _"Good morning, darling. Shall I be killing you today?"_ and hear her cheerful, _"Oh yes, please, my love," _while she eagerly pulled down her shirt and exposed her throat?

Or did she expect some sort of ceremony – some bizarre initiation where his whole family looked on as he sank his teeth into her willing jugular?

"What are you thinking?" Bella's voice shook him out of his reverie. There would be enough time for those questions later, he hoped; but for now, at least, they had the night alone to squander as they wished.

"That every second you amaze me," Edward answered softly, crawling under the blankets with her. "You are brave and brilliant, and beautiful and –" as he slipped his ice cold hands down the back of her pants, giving the smooth bare skin of her bottom a proper squeeze " – so very _warm _–" holding on tight as Bella bucked and shrieked beneath him.

"_Bastard," _she sputtered.

Edward snickered into her hair.

"You love me," he sing song whispered, while Bella tried fruitlessly to dislodge him.

"I'd love you more if you were less of an ice cube."

"Mmmm, no, I don't think so." And when she opened her mouth to protest, Edward stopped her lips with his own. He kissed her thoroughly, tasting the salty sweetness of her skin, his body coming alive as Bella arched and trembled beneath him, her heart hammering loudly in his ears. He meant only to play, but the heat, the taste of her, was a heady tide, sweeping away sense and reason. "Tell me you don't love me," Edward murmured breathlessly between kisses, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts, feeling her nipples rise under the thin fabric of her bra." Tell me you don't feel the same way I do."

"You know I do," Bella whispered as his lips found the pulse of her throat, "you know I do." She cradled his head with her hands as he sucked gently at the tender skin, caressing it with his tongue, drawing her precious blood to the surface until he could almost taste it. "I want you forever, Edward. _I want this._" Her voice was fierce with determination, but Edward could hear the faint tremor beneath her bravado.

_She's not ready, _he realized. _And neither am I._

Reluctantly, he pulled his hands from beneath her shirt and rolled to his side. Bella's head was tipped back against the chaise, leaving her neck exposed. Edward could already see the bruise forming on her pale flesh – a token reminder of the thing that still separated them, the question that remained unanswered. Gently he tipped her chin so that he could look her in the eye.

"I want what you want, Bella." He kissed her solemnly. "But I don't want you to think you have to rush things because of me."

Bella nodded, and licked her lips. "I think I'd like to stay out here a bit longer, if you don't mind. I'm not ready to go in just yet."

Edward tucked the blanket more firmly around them. He knew what she really meant. "We can stay out here as long as you like, Bella. I don't mind."

A sudden, brief puff of wind whispered through the trees, ruffling the snow off their branches and into the air; and the tiny flakes fell over them like diamonds, sparkling on their skin, and in their eyes, while above them the stars kept watch in the infinite stillness of the night sky.

X X X X X

Eventually even the electric blanket was no longer enough to stave off the bitter cold, and despite the protestations that rattled out through her chattering teeth, Edward scooped the whole mess of Bella and bedding up and carried her inside.

He whisked her quickly into a darkened room, the warm air stinging against the chilled tips of her ears and nose, setting her on her feet just inside the door.

In the faint light from a bank of windows on the south wall she could see that the room spanned the upstairs of the building that adjoined the main house. The only furnishings to speak of besides a long row of bookshelves full of boxes, were an old oak bedstead pushed up against the opposite wall, and the great hulking shape of a grand piano, swathed in moving canvas, lurking under the moonlight streaming in from the windows.

Everything was still, but the room seemed to vibrate with hushed expectation, as though it were waiting for someone, for a purpose that only they remembered.

Bella looked at Edward questioningly.

"They weren't certain I would ever come back," he said softly. "Esme couldn't bear not to keep a room for me, but . . . she knew everything I had was tainted with . . . the memory of you. What's here is actually from my parents' home in Chicago." He grimaced sadly. "I think she wanted me to remember that in spite of everything I was still someone's son – _their son _– and that maybe I could start over with that."

The oak bed frame was dark with age, and repeated polishing, and the patchwork crazy quilt spread over the mattress was faded with age.

_That's Edward's bed,_ Bella realized. _When he was still . . . what do I call him? Human? Alive? He's only ever been _Edward_ to me. _So instead she asked:

"Does it bother you, having your old things around you?"

"Hmm?" Edward's eyes flicked down to her face as they stood inside the doorway. "I don't remember my old life enough to miss it. I remember bits of things – sometimes I think I see the shape of my mother's face, or hear my father's voice when it's quiet – but these things don't serve as mementos. Not in the way my things from Forks would have."

He followed Bella as she walked to the slumbering piano.

_It looks like a mummy – a piano mummy, _Bella thought absently, and then, aloud, "Do you still play?"

"No." Edward's voice was heavy with wistful finality as he plucked at the heavy cloth shroud. "But not only because you were gone." He looked at her then, his expression earnest and determined. "Come sit with me – I have something to give you."

Edward took her hand, drawing her towards the big oak bedstead, pausing only briefly to take something off one of the bookshelves. Gallantly he handed Bella onto the bed, and then knelt at her feet on the floor.

"Bella, I've made so many mistakes. I've lied, I've cheated, I've killed. I've denied myself – who I am, who I ought to be. But most of all – _worst_ of all, I hurt my family. I hurt you." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out whatever it was he had taken from the shelf "A little over a month ago you – gave – this to me."

He pressed something cool and metallic into her hand.

Even without looking Bella knew what it was: her amber necklace.

The necklace she had thrown at his feet on that fateful night in Alaska, cursing her frozen heart, cursing him for making her so.

The tiny chunk of amber glowed faintly in her scarred palm, the trapped fly just barely visible in the cloudy resin.

She had barely a moment to see that broken chain had been repaired, and the blood carefully washed away, and then Edward clasped his hand over hers, curling her fingers around it.

"I want you to have it back." He went on quickly as Bella began to protest. "Not because of what it meant to you then. I want you to think of it as a pledge – my promise to you. All my life I've played a part: a son, a companion, a vampire – a monster even, but never me. I've let myself be an instrument to everyone else's expectations just like that damned piano in the window." Edward chuckled ruefully. "I've never played a note that wasn't a lie."

Bella opened her mouth, and then shut it again.

_What can I say to that, really?_

"I've been trapped like that little fly of yours," he continued. "But not anymore. I want to be me – who I was meant to be – to be someone you deserve. And I want you to be with me when I find out who that person is." Edward brushed his thumb gently over the scar on her wrist. "You were never the frozen one. I was. And seeing what you've done, and how you've changed has made me realize – if I could have just a fraction of your courage, maybe I can change, too. _That's_ what that your necklace means to me. That's my promise to you."

_I promise I can change,_ his eyes entreated. _Please don't leave me alone in the dark._

"_Oh,"_ was all Bella managed, and then she was gripping his hands, the necklace forgotten, pulling him up on his knees, kissing him tenderly, letting her lips tell him the words that had been burned upon her heart.

_I loved you false; I'll love you true. _

_Forever._

She tasted his lips like they were candy, slick and sweet and hard against her own, and Edward lifted her, impossibly strong, tipping her back onto the bed. He spread her out like an offering, holding her captive with his body, and though she was no longer cold, Bella shivered.

Edward pressed his lips to the corner of her jaw.

"I have played songs written for kings," he whispered. "For lovers, for faerie tales, for every thousand ways a heart can break, but it would have been blasphemy to even think of music while you were gone." His voice rippled over her skin, his breath cool silk against her throat. "Shall I play you, now, Isabella Swan? Shall I show you the song you have written on my soul?"

Bella could barely nod – his words spread like fire, low and hot in her belly, until her whole body was alight with them – and then Edward was moving down between her thighs, carefully undoing her belt, and slipping her jeans down her legs. He paused to untie the laces of her boots, kissing the tender skin on the inside of her knees as he did so.

The room was silent except for the languorous thud of her pulse, and the soft thump of her shoes hitting the floor. Her every nerve tingled in anticipation as Edward pressed her wrists into the pillow above her head, giving them a gentle squeeze to indicate she was to keep them there, and then brushed his fingertips slowly over her breasts, teasing her gently, deliberately avoiding her taut and aching nipples, and then lightly over her belly belly, dipping into the hollows of her pelvis, and then he spread her legs wide and settled on his heels between them.

Edward used the flat of his palms to make a circuit from her ankles to the tops of her thighs, urging her already heated blood to the surface in long delicious strokes. Gradually he worked his way higher; up over the swell of her hips, his fingers tugging playfully for a moment at the elastic of her underwear, and then up under her shirt. He splayed his hands gently over her stomach, his thumbs meeting just under her navel, following the natural line of muscle to her sternum, and then out over her ribs, just barely touching the underside of her breasts.

Bella's breath came in quiet huffs as she arched softly against his touch, letting his hands find their way beneath her to the clasp of her bra. For a moment Edward's expression was a mix of lust and frustration as his fingers fumbled behind her and then there was a mumbled curse,and a most unskillful ripping sound rent the air.

"_Ooops."_ Edward somehow managed to appear both sheepish and smug at the same time.

"Huh." Bella looked nonplussed at the mangled bits of fabric dangling from his fingers.

"I, erm, well. I guess I'll need some practice with that." Edward tossed her ruined bra over his shoulder. His teeth glinted wolfishly in the semi-darkness as he grinned down at her, and then Bella was laughing with him as her shirt met the same fate, and she peeled his clothing off in the same fashion, until they were both bare and breathless and rough with want; and Edward pulled the blanket over them both, wrapping her in warmth as he settled between her thighs.

He slid into her with a groan, and Bella felt her heart clench. Her body tingled with the familiar, gliding strangeness, the soft friction of skin on skin, and she lifted her hips to meet him, trying to bring him closer, closer, ever closer, as if she could somehow draw him into herself. She pulled at his back, his skin, his hair, her lips finding his, and she breathed his breath as though she could breathe his soul.

Edward's eyes were locked on hers, dark and vivid, burning her with their violent intensity.

"_Stay,"_ they begged her. _"Don't ever go."_

"Yes," she whispered back. "Yes, yes, yes."

_Yes, _to the feel of him, cool and dangerous and everything she had ever wanted.

_Yes, _to the song they wrote between them, forever in flux, never perfect, but wholly theirs, and theirs alone.

And finally, _Yes_, to the unspoken question, the end and the beginning, swirling into one brilliant crescendo until Bella could no longer bear it.

Eyes closed, she threw her head back, arching her body against him, and Edward pressed his mouth to her throat. He was wild almost – reckless in her arms, his lips nipping at hers, his tongue restless on her skin, while he moved within her. She could feel the rushing build, the tightening of her skin, the prickle of blood in her fingertips; and then Edward flattened his hand on small of her back, tilting her hips toward his, trapping her against him and pushing himself even deeper. Her body exploded with sensation, and she cried out, helpless, as her consciousness splintered into a thousand glittering fragments; and Edward shuddered and stilled, tipping after her into the void.

A long time later, when her racing heart had steadied, and the slow dark of sleep was upon her, Bella heard the telltale slam of a door, and she came to the somewhat disturbing realization that if there had been any doubt among the rest of the Cullens as to the nature of their relationship, there certainly wasn't any now.

And she thought she might have heard Edward chuckle as she drifted off into slumber.

X X X X X

Daylight was streaming full and bright through the windows when there was a knock on the door. Bella jerked awake, momentarily blinded. Beside her, Edward lay face down, completely immobile, his limbs spread starfish-like over the bed.

There was another tap. It sounded impatient.

"_Bella? It's Rose."_

_Damn it._

Bella tossed off the blankets, and then realized that she was still naked from the night before. Her ruined bra hung jauntily off the oak footboard, reminding her exactly what had happened to the rest of her clothes.

Edward's bare backside glimmered mockingly at her in the light from the windows.

"Oh, Jesus. _Edward," _Bella kicked him in the thigh. "Get _up."_

A garbled mumbling issued from the pillows, but he made no effort to move.

"_Bella? Edward? I know _you're _awake."_

"_Oh, double damn it," _Bella muttered, and yanked the quilt off the bed, wrapping it around herself, leaving Edward bare as an egg on the bed. _"Coward."_

Rosalie looked impossibly perfect as Bella awkwardly pulled open the door. Her exquisitely arched eyebrows rose infinitesimally further at the sight of Bella's bare limbs.

"_Ugh," _Rose sniffed. "You smell like sex."

"Rosalie," said Bella tersely, hauling the blanket higher over her chest. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We thought you might like some clothes," she answered easily enough, but her mouth puckered in a moue of distaste, indicating that her being the emissary for this gesture was clearly not her idea. It was then that Bella noticed the neatly folded pile of clothing that Rosalie was carrying. "And since Esme's clothes won't fit you anymore – " Rose looked pointedly at Bella's broadened shoulders, and then down at Bella's breasts, which were still threatening to spill out of the quilt " – she wanted me to lend you some of mine."

"Oh, um –" Bella did not have time to finish as Rose hastily thrust the clothing at her.

"Just wash them before you . . . " Rosalie trailed into silence while her eyes focused on something just over Bella's shoulder. "Oh my God – _burn_ them."

Bella turned just in time to see Edward standing next to the bed, wearing nothing but a beatific smile, and pillow clutched prophylactically over his most provocative bits while he blissfully scratched his bottom.

"_Disgusting,"_ Rose looked as though she were going to be ill.

Bella could only stare, frozen with mortification, as Edward and his pillow made their way over to her side.

"Thank you, Rose," he said, smiling wickedly at his sister and deftly snagging the clothes out of Bella's awkward grasp.

Rosalie hissed and whirled away in an elegant flurry of hair and moral outrage, while Edward's poorly muffled snicker followed gleefully after her down the stairs.

"You're horrible." Bella smacked Edward's arm, and then shrieked as he tossed her over his shoulder, dropping his pillow, and leaving the quilt stranded on the floor along with Rosalie's clothes; ignoring her halfhearted protests as he carried her back to the bed, bouncing her once on the mattress, and then pouncing on top of her.

It was well into the afternoon before either of them actually got dressed.

X X X X X

Eventually Bella made her way downstairs and into the main house.

Edward had finally pulled the shroud off the old Steinway that had once belonged to his real mother. Watching him flex his fingers wistfully over the worn ivory keys, Bella felt almost like a voyeur, so intimate was the moment. And so she opted to give him what privacy she could by joining the rest of the family.

Which was why she found herself now, sandwiched between Emmett and Alice on the couch.

Bella had given up trying to hide the love bites on her neck – barring a turtleneck that went up to her ears there was no way she could conceal them – and so she had decided to grin and bear it. Literally.

She immediately regretted her decision.

If a wake up call from Rosalie had been mortifying, Emmett's gleeful scrutiny was a thousand times worse.

"Rose said to thank you – she didn't remember what puking was like until this morning. Nice raspberry, by the way." Emmett poked her in the neck, and then snickered when her entire face turned nearly the same shade. Alongside her, Alice giggled.

"Emmett, stop teasing." Esme reached between them, and handed Bella a steaming hot cup of coffee.

"Yeah, Emmett." Alice gave Bella's arm a cheerful squeeze.

"You, too, Alice," said Esme repressively. Alice huffed, but didn't let go.

"Thank you." Bella buried her flaming face in the mug's welcome heat.

She blushed even further when she heard Esme's sympathetic hiss as she fluffed Bella's hair gently over the worst of the bruising.

In spite of the embarrassment, Bella realized she was grateful, because the teasing meant she belonged; and she leaned her head back into Esme's gentle touch.

_It's nice to be mothered._

"Bella," Esme began. "I – we, were wondering if you would spend the holidays with us. We know you missed Thanksgiving - you might be busy – this is sudden –" Esme stumbled on as Bella turned to look up at her in surprise. "But we haven't had much to celebrate in a while, and, well, we'd be honored to have you if you want to stay."

Bella grasped Esme's cool hand in her own as her chest constricted with sudden warmth.

"Of course," her voice sounded thick even in her own ears. "Of course I'll stay."

_I haven't got any – _

"_OH, CRAP." _And Bella suddenly remembered the one last thing she had promised to do when she left Montana.

And then it was Alice and Emmett and Esme's turn to look after her, nonplussed, as she bolted out of the room. They didn't know why she ran, but they were all certain she said one thing before she left:

"_He's gonna kill me."_

X X X X X

"Swan, so lovely to hear from you." Dr. Reyerson's brusque, familiar tone crackled over the line without the preamble of a "hello."

"Hey, Doc." Bella was alone on the back porch. From the inside of the house she could hear the faint plink and hum of a sorely neglected piano being tuned.

"I got your reports, so I'm assuming this is a social call."

"You could say that." Bella felt her cheeks redden. It had been years since she had talked to anyone about the prospect of a romantic relationship, and the idea of baring her heart to the cynical eye of her mentor was something Bella found more than a little embarrassing. "I think I might need to talk to you about my apps for next year."

"You pregnant?"

The piano went suspiciously silent.

"_What?_ God, no! _Jesus._ I know what to do with a penis when I see one." Bella clapped her hand over her mouth. _Fuck, I just said that._

Reyerson barked out a laugh, and in the background, Bella could hear Jake's disapproving huff.

"Relax, my girl, I know you know better."

Bella was fairly certain Reyerson could feel the heat of her blush over the phone. This was beyond awkward.

"I take it the 'peace talks' went well."

Fire. Her face was on fire.

"Umm, yes," Bella hedged. "That's kinda what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Isabella," Reyerson's tone was serious now. "I think I know why you're calling. It's all right. But I'd rather look you in the eye when we talk about this."

"Me, too." She paused, hearing the telltale heavy breathing that most certainly did not belong to Dr. Reyerson. "How's Jake doing?"

"He's fine. Minimal destruction. Although right now he's eyein' this phone like it's your favorite pair of underpants."

Bella snorted, then sniffed. She missed her dog.

"Tell you what, Swan. You come see me before the beginning of the semester and we'll figure this out. Right now, you have your break . . . and I'll have my scotch. Enjoy your holiday. You've earned it."

"Thanks, Doc."

"Oh, and Swan, one more thing."

"Yeah?"

"Bring the boy with you. I want a word with him."

Edward's fingers slipped off the piano keys with a dreadful clang.

A word, indeed.

**A/N: Guess where we're going!**

**Sooo. First off, I want to take up my broken record and say once again, that I'm sorry this has taken so long. The best way I can put it is that this story has taken such a hold on me that I'm sad to see it go. There's not much left to tell, and as much as it needs to be out of my head, I want to savor every last bit of it. **

**I want to thank each and every one of you who have stuck with me, and cheered me on. I know I haven't been able to thank all of you personally, but please believe that I have treasured each and every one of your comments. Thank you for keeping me inspired. As always, I hope this was worth the wait. In my eyes, at least, it was worth the telling. **

**Thank you all again. **


	29. Occam's Razor

**AN: Apparently I had some housekeeping to do. I'll grovel further at the end. Please enjoy.**

Bella tapped her fingers anxiously on the granite countertop. Across the kitchen island from her Carlisle was peering intently at the open document on her laptop, studying the culmination of almost two years of careful research and data collection in the Rocky Mountain Wildlife corridor.

The work that had once been her only purpose.

_Until now . . . _

Until now she had considered her future to be a long straight road, lonely and bare, marked only with the monolith cairns of naked longing and regret.

Until now she had been alone; angry, scorned and empty.

Until now she did not have the persistent company of a certain lanky vampire, who was now wrapped around her like some sort of bipedal limpet, blissfully sniffing her hair while another member of the supernatural perused her Master's research.

Carlisle passed the open computer back across the counter and looked at her inscrutably for a long moment.

"This is brilliant work," he said at last.

Edward whuffled a happy sigh into the back of her neck.

Carlisle smiled at his son, but his eyes were wistful as he turned back to Bella.

"Would it be all right – would it be too much – to say I'm proud of you?" he asked tentatively.

Bella felt her throat constrict as her eyes pricked.

"Of course." Her voice sounded rough and unused. "Of course you can."

She reached out to grasp Carlisle's hand, but as her eyes brimmed and the room swam, there was a sudden shuffling and then she was pressed against an unfamiliar chest while strong arms closed around her.

"I am proud of you," Carlisle whispered. "I'm only sorry I wasn't there –"

Bella squeezed him back as best she could.

"Me too." Bella heard Edward shift uncomfortably behind them. "But you're here now," she said firmly. "And that's all that matters."

And that was all that had ever mattered – the _here, _the belonging, the knowing that someone actually cared what she did. That she _mattered. _

It was at that moment that Bella finally understood the loneliness that the Cullens must have faced, slipping in and out of lives throughout the years, existing, but never belonging – just as she had; and she realized, then, that perhaps they were not so different, after all.

X X X X X

Later that day Bella and Edward retreated to the library. Carlisle had found some research he had thought would help her thesis, and Bella spent the rest of the afternoon on the couch in front of the fire, poring over journals while Edward curled head and shoulders on her lap and pretended to sleep.

As she read, Bella absently played with Edward's hair, letting the silken strands slip through her fingers.

He sighed contentedly, burrowing his backside deeper into the couch.

"I like this dream," he murmured softly.

Bella looked down at him. Edward's head was pillowed on her thigh, a slight smile on his lips. His skin was Carrara white against her dark jeans, the smooth planes of his face statuesque in repose.

He could almost have been one of those statues from antiquity – every feature, every pore, each muscle and ligament polished and honed to perfection – captured forever in stone. But though the fresh skin of his perpetually youthful face bore none of the weathered marks of marble from ancient times, Edward, Bella realized, did not look his age.

There was too much of knowledge, sadness and bitter experience stamped into his features – as though the long years of his life had somehow been superimposed over the image of the young man he had once been.

Or maybe the physical Edward was the mirage.

Maybe he was like a figure painting – an errant knight from a Waterhouse epic, frozen for a moment in slick oil pigment – pretending to stay young as the paint holding him in place dried and cracked.

Whatever he was, he was a conundrum.

_Her_ conundrum.

Bella tossed the journal she had been reading on the floor.

Her mind was spinning, and even she could no longer feign interest in what Carlisle had promised to be a very informative article about the contents of elk droppings.

At least, not with Edward folded up on her lap, looking in every way contradictory.

_He looks like angel_, she thought, gazing at the devilish quirk of his eyebrow. _Except he's an angel made of sin._

_I like his kind of sin._

Bella ran her finger down his nose, feeling the slight bump at the bridge.

"Edward?"

"Hmmm?"

"How did you do it?"

"Do what?" Edward rolled to look up at her. Bella was almost positive he batted his eyes.

"How did you ever pass as a teenager? You don't look, well, _right._ You look too old –" Bella smacked his lips lightly as he began to smirk widely " – well, not that kind of old, but like you're wearing your skin wrong or something."

Edward grabbed the hand that had smacked him, tucking it against his chest, and smiled brilliantly at her.

"Occam's Razor," he said proudly, showing all his teeth. "You know," Edward lowered his voice, channeling Sherlock Holmes, "'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' It's elementary, really, my dear Miss Swan." He really did bat his eyelashes this time. "No rationally minded creature is going to want to believe that the pale boy sitting by himself in the back of the class is a vampire. Or that maybe he's just a bit too old to be sitting there. They're just going to assume that the sense of fear and repulsion they feel from merely looking at him is part of the reason why he's an outcast to begin with. Hence they accept I am human, and whatever age I choose to be, because it's impractical, if not _impossible_ for their minds to comprehend the existence of the supernatural."

"Not without a demonstration, at least," Bella reminded him, thinking of that moment, long ago, when she had first begun to guess that there was something not quite right about Edward Cullen.

"No," Edward agreed. "Not without a demonstration."

He stretched carefully, not letting go of her hand. "Would you like another one?" He asked, playfully nibbling on her fingers. "I could show you few things."

"You've already shown me a few things," said Bella dryly.

Edward grinned cheekily at her, pretending to buff his nails on his shirt.

"And you were suitably impressed, as I recall."

"You really _are_ terrible." Bella couldn't help the flush that spread over her cheeks. By now, the whole family knew exactly how "impressed" she was.

"I'm a product of my environment," said Edward shamelessly. "I can't help it if you prefer my company."

"You seem to prefer mine a lot lately, yourself." Bella shot him a pointed glance. She wasn't sure, at this point, if Edward resembled either a cat or a folding chair by the way he had contorted his body around her.

"Bella," Edward looked up at her, all playfulness gone. "I have spent the last five years with the perfect memory of you burned into my brain. I could see you, I could taste you on the air, I could hear your voice, but I could never touch you.

"And now that I can . . ." he rolled and buried his nose in her stomach. "I want to see if my memory did you justice."

Edward slipped one hand around her waist, holding her firm. The other crept under the front of her shirt, and he began tracing tiny circles around her navel. His fingers were cool and blistering hot, raising goose bumps with each pass over her tender flesh.

"I dreamed of your skin." His thumb smoothed over the dip above her belly button. "Like burning silk on my lips, but so sweet to taste."

When Edward replaced his fingers with his tongue, Bella let her head loll against the back of the couch. The room narrowed, becoming only the surge of blood beneath her skin, the thunder of her heart, and the soft, insistent pressure of Edward's lips on her belly.

She fisted her hands in his hair in supplication, her breath coming in shallow gasps as Edward eeled himself further onto her lap.

"I dreamed of your breasts," he murmured, pushing the fabric of her shirt out of the way. "Of touching them just like this . . . " His nimble fingers tugged gently on the cup of her bra, freeing her breast, and his mouth closed over her exposed nipple.

The wet, tugging pull of his lips echoed the tightening in her belly, and the building ache between her thighs. She tried to speak, to say his name, to tell him with her lips, her hands, that she had yearned for him the same – that if she could she would peel back their brittle skins and take him into her own body, to carry him whole, within her heart – but there was not air enough in her lungs to speak the words.

"I dreamed . . . I dreamed," Edward whispered over and over against her overheated flesh, holding her still as she arched helplessly against him. "God, I missed you. I missed _this – "_

And then his lips were at her throat; slow, languid, open mouthed kisses over her surging pulse, his teeth dragging against delicate skin, asking, _begging_, and –

"Edward, gross. Not on the couch."

Alice's voice dropped between them like a bucket of cold water.

Bella yanked her shirt down, trapping Edward's head underneath as he ducked.

Alice chuckled as Edward struggled to extricate himself. "I _did _knock," she said apologetically.

Edward emerged from under Bella's shirt, looking like an angry cockatoo, and shot Alice a sour glance.

"You couldn't _see_ I was busy?" His voice was laced with irritation and affection.

Fortunately enough for all parties considered, the couch faced away from the door, but Bella was fairly certain that Alice could have deduced what was going on behind the scenes, as it were, based the Technicolor view she had gotten of Edward mauling her neck.

"No, Edward, I couldn't. And you couldn't _hear_ me either. That's why we're here."

That was when Bella saw Jasper lingering behind Alice in the hallway. He smiled at her shyly as he followed Alice into the room.

She wasn't surprised by his hesitation - since her return, Jasper had treated Bella with a sort of embarrassed reticence – he hadn't avoided her company, but he certainly hadn't sought it out, either. Under the circumstances, she understood.

_I feel the same way about Rosalie._

But she pushed that thought out of her mind as Jasper and Alice sat down on the loveseat next to the couch.

For a moment they sat in silence – even the fire seemed subdued.

Jasper and Alice, it seemed, were having a silent argument, eyes locked as if willing the other to speak. They looked almost _guilty_, or at least ashamed, but for what reason, Bella could not guess.

Next to her, Edward sighed, exasperated. He sat awkwardly, leaning forward on his elbows, and his nose had a pinched look.

Bella squirmed. Her nipples ached, and her belly tingled and her – well – she knew just how he felt.

_I wish I'd locked the door._

Finally, Edward broke the silence. "I've had enough of silent conversations, Alice. I'm not going to pick through your head like a damned Rolodex."

Alice didn't respond to his needling. Instead, she wrung her hands, staring solemnly at the floor.

"It's about you, Bella," she said lowly. "It's about your future if you decide to . . . stay with us."

_Be Changed, was what she didn't say._

"I thought you couldn't see me . . .?"

"No, I can't." Alice smiled sadly at her. "And right now, I think you're making it hard for me to see Edward. I wasn't kidding when I walked in on you two."

"Good to know," said Edward dryly.

"I can _hear _you just fine, brother dear." Alice shuddered and made a face at him. "Now be serious – this is about you, too."

"How do you mean?" Bella and Edward asked in unison, their voices, soft alto and smooth baritone, raised in confused harmony.

"I never told either of you this, but I think – I think I should." Alice's eyes were glassy and compelling, seeking each of theirs in turn. "You have to understand – I couldn't _See_ – and then your birthday – and Jasper – and Edward, and it was awful and it was _my fault –"_

"Alice," Edward broke in gently. "_Nothing_ is your fault. And it's not yours either, Jasper." He shot his brother a knowing look. "I'm the one to blame for all of this. And you both know I don't like to share."

Alice gave Edward a watery smile and he reached over and tweaked her knee. "Calm down, and start from the beginning. Please? I can't really make sense of what you're thinking. Plus, I was about to be in the middle of something."

He leered theatrically at Bella.

Bella flushed as Jasper snorted, and Alice let out a soggy giggle.

"_Ick."_

Edward grinned toothily at his sister. "You're welcome."

And just like that, the tension dissipated from the room, flitting away into the shadows, and out into the waiting evening.

"It all started the summer after James . . . bit you, Bella." Alice's voice was rough, but calm. "I couldn't see you as well – it was like you started to flicker in and out. I didn't really think about it at the time – all our futures were already in flux, then, because of you. But now it makes sense. That's why I couldn't see what was going to happen on your birthday. Or what Edward was going to do. And it's why I can't see you now."

"What's 'it' exactly?" Bella asked suspiciously. _Am I infectious, or something?_

"It's your Gift, Bella." Jasper leaned forward and carefully grasped her scarred wrist.

His hand was cold and strangely rough, but his broad, blunt fingers were gentle as they traced the faded silver mark.

"But I'm still . . . how is that even possible?" This was beyond confusing. _Doesn't being Gifted involve not having a pulse?_

"The wound wasn't clean, Bella." It was as if Jasper had read her mind. "And that's no normal scar. Even though Edward was able to get all the venom out of your bloodstream, there was still enough left on your skin to alter permanently. Just like this." Jasper held his own wrist up to the light to illustrate. In the warm light from the fire, Bella could see the crisscross ridges of multiple bite marks spreading over his arm in a web of poured mercury. "Edward explained the nature of venom to you, didn't he?"

Bella nodded. "That it works like a virus."

"In essence, yes. But it also contains a genetic imperative very similar to DNA. Not only does it magnify our human traits, but it also allows us to pass on certain abilities to our, um, progeny. In my case, the woman who Changed me was particularly vicious – and that tendency suited the purpose for which she had chosen me – and hundreds of others. My empathic ability was pure luck on her part, but her traits are my misfortune. It's no excuse for my behavior," Jasper looked at Bella apologetically. "But the reality is that what I inherited from her has made this lifestyle much more of a struggle for me than for the rest of our family."

"So Carlisle . . .?"

"Has shared his compassion with everyone he Changes," Jasper finished for her. "Edward alone is Gifted, but he has still inherited Carlisle's 'unique' empathy." Jasper circled his thumb over the deep scar in Bella's wrist. "We can't be certain whose venom made this mark. It could have been either James _or _Edward. All we know is that your . . . exposure, if you will, to venom has very likely awakened some latent part of your ability in almost the same way you would develop antibodies to a virus."

"We can't guess the extent of your Gift until . . . after," Alice broke in gently. "But we can at least give you a choice, so much as it is."

"I'm not sure I'm following you," Bella laced her free hand with Edward's. "You're saying I might have some sort of ability, and if Edward . . . that that might make it stronger, or maybe even worse somehow?"

"It's not an easy thing, walking in and out of people's futures," said Alice sadly. "And I don't envy Edward's ability one bit. If Carlisle Changed you, it's quite possible that his venom may neutralize whatever is already in your system – or at least, it wouldn't have any adverse effects. Whereas Edward, with such a strong Gift . . . you could manifest something else entirely. I don't have any answers, Bella. But if I can spare you any of what I've felt for the last five years . . . "

"Alice –"

"It wasn't my fault, I know. But, Bella, you have to understand. I _felt _responsible. I'm so used to knowing – and then everything fell apart, and I didn't know what to _do."_ Alice shuddered in Jasper's arms. "It was awful," she said in a small voice.

Bella cast a sideways glance at Edward. His face was a mixture of torment and conflicted longing. Gently she loosened her hand from Jasper's grasp, and placed it over the one already clasping Edward's. She gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze.

_Here goes nothing._

"I know what you're trying to tell me, Alice." Bella held Edward's gaze as she spoke. "I understand the risk – truly I do. But I want Edward to be the one to change me. Call me old fashioned if you want – but I want to _belong_ to him. And if that means sharing the burden of his ability, then so be it. I want this. And I want him. _All _of him. Whatever that means."

Edward's eyes were full of soft wonderment as her unspoken words lingered in the air between them:

_I want you to claim me. _

"As you wish," he said at last.

As though that were the answer they were looking for, Alice and Jasper both nodded and stood to leave. Alice embraced Bella and Edward silently in turn, while Jasper lingered behind for a moment, looking at the two of them contemplatively. At last, he thumped Edward manfully between the shoulders, smiling broadly at him, and then gallantly drew Bella's fingers to his lips, kissing them with antiquated chivalry.

His expression mirrored Edward's – a sort of wistful amazement – as he leaned down to whisper in Bella's ear.

"You have a pure heart, Bella. I've always admired that. But I think you've got that business of belonging to Edward all wrong – you already own him, body and soul."

Bella looked back at Edward as he half stood, half knelt on the couch.

"I think it's a mutual thing, Jasper," she murmured softly, transfixed in the earnestness of Edward's gaze. "And I think I'm okay with that."

"You may be, at that," he agreed, and then bid them both goodnight, following his wife's retreating form into the darkened hallway.

"He's right, you know," Edward's voice was slightly choked. "I am wholly yours. And I'm at your mercy."

His eyes were bright and glassy, the light from the fireplace catching the tips of his hair, surrounding his face in a halo of brilliance, and he was once again the confounding angel whohad whispered wicked delights to her not so long ago.

And Bella took his hand then, leading him out the door after her, to the privacy of his room, and there she stripped them of their clothes, and pulled him naked with her on the bed, joining him once again in the middle, exactly where they both belonged.

X X X X X

Before long it was just a week before Christmas, and in the midnight hour Bella found herself restless.

She sat alone in Edward's room, the molten boneless feeling of an afternoon spent tangled in slippery sheets and long pale limbs slipping from her as the night wore on and her bed – their bed – remained empty. Emmett and Jasper had finally pried Edward away, saying he needed to spend time with his brothers before he "grew a vagina."

What was shocking was that Jasper had been the one to say it. Even more so that Carlisle had joined them.

"It means they go out into the woods and break stuff and hit each other," Alice had translated, after she sent her husband off with a kiss. "Vampirism does a lot of things, but one thing that it doesn't do is erase _boy."_

Bella had giggled with her as Edward followed his brothers eagerly out the door.

She still struggled with the idea that men so outwardly polished and graceful would fall prey to the temptations of schoolyard violence. Especially that Edward, in all his awkward reticence, would rush to join them.

But, in the end, she supposed it made sense. Just as she had, Edward needed to belong; and his self imposed five year exile had done nothing to help his already tenuous grasp on his own self worth. Though the Cullens had readily forgiven him, Edward had still not allowed such kindness toward himself, and it remained an intangible, yet powerful barricade between himself and those that he loved.

_He must be so lonely, still, _Bella thought sadly. _When will it be enough for him to let himself come home?_

She couldn't begin to guess. For all he had given himself to her freely, Edward was still unfathomably complex, and in times when she was uncertain, the gulf of experience yawned wide between them.

And so now she sat, alone in Edward's room, contemplating what she might do to help him.

Alice and Esme were downstairs in the kitchen, exploring the evils of fruitcake. Like two of Macbeth's witches, they pored over recipes and pictures, and cackled over the horrifying results as they were birthed out of Esme's enormous enameled oven.

Bella had tactfully declined any involvement. She knew first hand how god-awful fruitcake was, and as she had watched Alice gleefully tear open a bag of gummy bears for their latest diabolical experiment, she had a strong urge to take a hit of the cooking sherry out of sheer principle.

Rose had taken one look at the proceedings and announced that she would be in her room, "conducting herself in a rational manner," and not to disturb her unless someone had been set on fire.

Thus Bella was left to her own devices. The idea of spending an evening alone with Rosalie filled her with a sort of creeping horror. Though the rest of the Cullens had accepted her presence easily, Rose remained aloof. She was unfailingly polite, of course, but remote; and Bella could not help but feel that her approval had to be earned.

When she had voiced her assessment of the situation to Emmett, he had agreed.

"Rose is a rare bird," he had said, thoughtfully. "She's as tenacious as she is beautiful. And once she gets an idea into her head, it's like moving a mountain to get her to change her mind. Trust me. I learned that the hard way. The fact is, she loves Edward, for all she pretends not to, and she's horribly protective of him. It's just, she's not so sure about you. She wants to trust you – but she knows how badly you can hurt him if you – "

"If I change my mind," Bella finished for him. "Emmett –"

"_I_ know you won't," Emmett interrupted. "You know you won't, everyone else knows you won't. Hell, even _Edward _knows you won't and 'Doubt' is his middle name. But Rose . . . she has trouble trusting in anything. It's part of who she is. I know she'll come around to the idea of you eventually . . . just don't do anything to hurt Edward in the meantime, yeah?"

_As if I ever could, _thought Bella, recalling their conversation again. Bored, and somewhat lonely – the nights when Edward was away always were – she pulled down one of the old photo albums from the bookshelf and was carefully thumbing her way through it.

Carlisle had been able to save a few photographs from Edward's human past. There were a few of him posed carefully as a young child – black and white photos that had been tinted with oil paints – his face soft and cherubic, with cherry red lips and fir green eyes, his bizarre hair color muted with a dull, staid brown. But the most striking photograph of all was the last – the one of Edward with his parents.

It was simply dated December, 1917, with father and son standing behind a seated Elizabeth. Even in life, Edward was almost ethereally beautiful. His cheeks were fuller, his jaw less pronounced, but one eyebrow was still crooked – he was still Edward. She could see that he had come into his height, but in this picture Edward was slender and gawky, all awkward limbs and large hands, with his hair slicked down flat against his skull. He was a sharp contrast to the dignified posture of his parents – both proud, stern looking people, their faces marked with the long, elegant lines he had inherited. His father was a tall man, though not as tall as Edward, handsome and patrician, an older, heavier version of his son. Still, the similarity between father and son was remarkably strong. They bore the same determined expression – heads raised, jaws firmly set, each resting a protective hand on the woman seated in front of them.

A woman whose hair refused to lay still; a woman whose mouth quirked just the tiniest bit; a woman who stared defiantly out of the picture at Bella with her son's knowing eyes.

Bella stroked the glazed surface of the photograph sadly, a deep pang of regret in her heart.

Regret for the terrible fate of that Edward, all innocent eyes and rounded cheeks pink with the blush of youth.

Regret for the boy who had died alone.

Regret for the young man reborn into a life of solitude.

Regret for his parents, dust all these years, who had never seen the man their child had become.

With a heavy sigh, she flipped the page.

Again and again she turned through pictures from a different time, of Edward and Carlisle, who were later joined by a rather wild looking Esme. Pictures of Rosalie, stark and beautiful, blazing with vengeance and death. Of Edward and Rose together, perfectly polite, yet with antagonism so strong between them Bella could almost feel it radiating out of the page. Of Emmett, his honest features stamped with a sort of bemused surprise. Pictures with Alice and Jasper, newly arrived, wearing the clothing of another era.

Pictures that spoke of family and belonging, of love and fidelity, all of couples, all except for one: the first child, the youngest son.

_Edward._

Though he was often photographed with the others, he always seemed alone – his body language closed off, and awkward – as if he were somehow trying to slip out of the frame, no matter how close he stood to his family members.

_Some things never change,_ thought Bella sadly. _Poor Edward._

His family loved him, of that there was no doubt. But, for whatever reason, Edward had not allowed himself to believe it – not even then. Not that he distrusted their obvious affection for him, but whether or not he, and the sum of his parts that made him _Edward, _actually merited it – if he actually belonged.

And though she loved him with all her heart, Bella knew that she could not bear the full weight of making Edward see that he was worthy, and that he was truly wanted by those he loved most.

Five years of loneliness and bitter experience had given Bella the introspection she needed to see that measuring her own self worth through her failed relationships – with Edward and her parents – had been a grievous mistake – and had been a salient lesson as to why she could not place the burden her own happiness on those around her; but short of pounding Edward's head against the ground while chanting "your family loves you no matter what you silly, neurotic vampire" in exhortation, Bella was rather at a loss for what to do.

Until she turned to the last page in the photo album.

And immediately burst out laughing,

For there was the answer to her question, and the key to Edward's idealized reinstatement into the bosom of his family.

It was a picture of Edward and Rose and Alice posed with their arms around each other standing in front of a low-slung sports car. There was no date on it, but judging by the clothing, it had been taken sometime in the mid nineteen seventies. Even with his wide lapels and flared polyester pants, Edward had managed to look exceedingly dapper – a look only accented by the fact that he had Alice and Rosalie perched on either arm. Both of them were wearing matching slubbed silk sheath dresses and go-go boots, and laughing uproariously at the camera.

And for once, so was Edward. Unlike the awkward, hesitant smiles that had been captured in the previous pictures, this one was genuine, brimming with joy and confidence, and his face shone with it. He looked proud, and at ease; he looked like he belonged.

"Why is it only in that picture . . .?" Bella peered closer, trying find some clue that would explain Edward's sudden change in demeanor.

She didn't have to look long before she found it. Peeking slyly from between Edward and Alice and the (admittedly) hideous plaid of Edward's pants, Bella could just barely make out the sleek form of a leaping feline, immortalized in chrome, and affixed to the hood of the car.

_Edward's Jaguar._

Suddenly she could hear Edward's voice in her head, as clear as if he were in the room, repeating what he had told her that afternoon, _"__'W__hen you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'"_

"Occam's Razor," she murmured aloud. "The simplest solution is always the best."

And she knew then what she had to do, to bring Edward home, body _and _soul, once and for all.

X X X X X

The night air was bitingly cold as Bella dashed across the open deck to the main house. She could hear Alice and Esme howling with laughter downstairs in the kitchen, but she didn't join them. Instead she made her way quickly down the hallway and up the stairs to the third floor.

"Rose?" She knocked tentatively, on the closed door. "I need your help with something."

She supposed she could have asked any of them, but as Bella clutched the old photograph to her chest like a tiny paper olive branch, she realized that, somewhat selfishly, in a way, this project was just as much for her sake as it was for Edward's.

The door swung open slowly, revealing Rosalie in all her majestic, impassive glory. She surveyed Bella with a bland eye, and finally said, "Thank God you're dressed."

Bella flushed, a ready retort on her lips. Swallowing the strong urge to tell Rose to go fornicate with herself and the horse she rode in on, Bella simply repeated, "I need your help," and thrust the photograph in Rosalie's general direction.

Rose took the picture from Bella's chilled fingers without preamble, and stared at it for a long moment. Eventually she let out a low whistle, and shook her head slowly.

"He needs this," said Bella softly. "He needs to _know_ . . . "

Rosalie's golden eyes met hers, and the two women looked at each other appraisingly.

"Trust _you _to figure that one out," Rose said at last as she smiled at Bella somewhat begrudgingly. "I'll see what I can do." She tapped the old photograph on the doorframe, and then clapped Bella roughly on the shoulder. "Stick around, Bella Swan. Fifty years or so from now, I'll maybe just start to like you."

And this time, when Bella laughed, Rosalie's smile was for real.

**Soo. I admit I've taken a bit of canon for a walk, but, for what I need to do . . . it had to happen. There are a lot of ends at this point that want weaving together, and some of them just didn't want to wait. I hope I did them justice - and I hope that none of you were bored to tears. **

**I want to thank each and every one of you for sticking by me and just plain old _hanging in there_ with this story. I never thought it would take this long, or come to life so thoroughly in my own mind. And even though I haven't had the time to respond, I have read and enjoyed all your comments deeply. I really am touched. Thank you so much for your patience. I hope, as always, that this was worth the wait. **


	30. Ouroboros

**A/N: Steven Tyler says canon should "walk this way. . ."**

The night air was heavy with the threat of new snowfall. Around them, the mountain forest stood quiet watch in the darkness as Edward and Bella made their careful way up the hillside.

Edward led the way, Bella's gloved hand warm in his, the heat radiating up his arm with the steady thrum of her heart, mingling with the sounds of their own soft breaths and the hissing crunch of their footsteps through the dry powdered snow.

It was slow going; almost painfully slow, but Edward was of no mind to care.

Gone were the days when he would simply toss Bella over his shoulder and rush headlong into disaster.

When he made the disaster.

The grief of those times, the longing . . . the loathing, had taught him, among other things, to let go – to let even the simplest moments unfold around him like a flower, one petal at a time, revealing their essence at a predetermined pace.

Or, in this case, Bella's pace.

His left front pocket thumped impatiently against his thigh.

"This is incredible." Bella's voice was muffled in the cold, humid air.

They had come at last to a small promontory of rock just above the tree line. Before them the mountainside dropped away from them into a deep valley, the tree blackened slopes blanketed in snow.

The sky above hung low, glowing softly the way only winter nights could, the pale rose of the clouds reflecting the light from the village, bathing the night in shades of blue and violet; bright enough even that Bella had not even thought to bring her headlamp.

Not that she would have needed it.

Across from them, the entire hillside of the Whistler Blackcomb resort was alight.

It was New Years, and, in keeping with tradition, hundreds of skiers waited at the mountaintop, holding all manner of torches aloft, ready to herald in the New Year.

"It is, isn't it?" Edward looked down at her rapt expression, feeling only a little guilty for having to disturb it.

Patience he had learned. Accepting it proved to be more difficult.

Especially now, when he could detect the faint hint of something secret lurking beneath the serenity of her gaze; the same something that had seemed to infect the rest of his family since before Christmas.

_Did she know? _

_Did Alice guess?_

Christmas itself had come and gone with little fanfare. The Cullens had, by mutual agreement, forgone exchanging gifts over the holiday, and instead spent the day in quiet appreciation of their newly reunited family in the house's large great room.

Unfortunately, their attempt at a peaceful gathering in front of the fire lasted all of about five minutes before rapidly degenerating into Emmett and Jasper teasing Edward mercilessly about "making sounds like a dying elk" in the middle of the night while Bella blushed furiously into her hot chocolate; until the ensuing melee threatened to involve Esme's carefully decorated tree and Carlisle herded the whole mess of y-chromosomes and cheerful antagonism out into the snow.

Edward had had just enough time to hear Alice and Rose zero in on Bella before he was shoved headfirst into a snow bank.

To her credit, she remained mum – something that Edward had apparently not been able to do the night before.

Although, in his defense, there was little he could have done about it.

One minute they had been stumbling, slick and slippery and very naked, out of the shower; and the next he had been flat on his back on the bed, with Bella straddling his thighs, a wicked grin on her face, murmuring, "I just want to try one thing . . ." while the long dark curtain of her hair fell over his hips and she introduced him to the warm, wet pleasures of her mouth.

The subsequent shiver that ran down Edward's spine had nothing to do with the fact that Emmett and Jasper had managed to stuff half the snow in British Columbia down his shirt.

Even now, a full week later, he was radiating equal parts smugness and bliss as he and Bella hiked hand in hand, through the snow.

_Quiet? _

_Who could have been quiet at a time like that?_

_I _don't _sound like an elk._

_Do I?_

_Maybe we can try that again. For scientific reasons, of course._

Contemplating a repeat performance of what had been one of the greatest highlights in his limited sexual experience to date, Edward was also doing his best to ignore the soft, niggling voice in the back of his mind that dared to whisper he had been caught up in an elaborate ruse.

That someone in the house was using his discomfiture to conceal something. And they were using a united front to do it.

He just couldn't be certain what was being hidden – or by whom. Since Bella had come home to them, silence had rippled out of her into the rest of the family, leaving only the barest waves of subconscious thought to splash against Edward's mind. It was odd, and sometimes frustrating. But it was also a relief.

Except for now.

Under the circumstances, he supposed, there was no reason to be nervous.

And yet here he was, a vampire; a perfect predator; a man who had all the knowledge of the world at his fingertips; who could hardly bear the overly clichéd anticipation of a single, human moment.

Immortality had never felt so ridiculous.

The weight in his pocket tugged at his shoulders, goading him, its meager contents the spark that would set his entire future alight.

An eternity passed – _or was it a second? _– and, at long last, Edward took a deep breath, grit his teeth, and pulled a tiny velvet box out of his jacket.

"Bella?" His voice sounded dry and cracked, even in his own ears.

She turned to him, eyes open and unsuspecting.

_She doesn't know . . . _Edward wasn't certain if that was a comfort, now.

He licked his lips and soldiered on, "I have something for you."

Instinctively, it seemed, her eyes flickered from their joined hands, to his closed fist, tapping nervously against his thigh.

Could she hear his silent mantra?

He was practically shouting inside his own head.

_Let me be calm. _

_Let me do this before the words explode out the top of my head and I make a fool of myself. Again._

_Or, at least, not any more elk noises._

_How does anyone survive this?_

Edward drew her close, placing the velvet box in her hands, and covering them with his own.

"You said in Montana that it wasn't our time. That too much had changed – that we had changed. And maybe you were right. But maybe you weren't. _Shh – _let me say this."

Bella's unspoken words puffed out in protest, hanging in the fog of her breath.

"I've done things backwards, Bella. I lied to you. I broke your heart. I've done things to you that both our fathers would have thrashed me for." She smiled at that. "I've created enough shame and regret in your name to last me the rest of my life – and I don't care – well about the lying and the heartbreaking I do – "

_Babbling, Edward, you're babbling. _ He could almost feel his subconscious pounding on his temples, trying to stop him before he wrecked completely. _ Just say it!_

"I can't be without you, Bella. No matter how hard I tried to push myself, I couldn't stay away. You're like the fixed point in a compass to me. Wherever you go, with all my heart, I must follow."

Gently, he pried open the velvet box.

Nestled in faded black satin was a flat gold band, wound over with the eternal Celtic knot, the strands coiled and divided into tiny snakes, with tiny ruby eyes, all baring their tiny diamond fangs and devouring their own tails.

The Ouroboros.

_The eternal return._

Bella looked down at their joined hands, and then up, her eyes streaming.

"'Thy firmness makes my circle just,'" he whispered, hearing his own voice break. "'And makes me end where I begun.' Marry me, Bella. Be my forever. Make time stop for both of us."

Bella was openly crying now, which Edward would have found seriously disturbing, except for the fact that she was also smiling and sniffling; awkwardly trying to wipe her eyes and hold his hand simultaneously.

"Of course," she choked out, hastily removing her left glove. "Of course, I'll marry you."

She might have said more, something along the lines of, _"As if you had to ask," _but Edward was already kissing her so thoroughly that there wasn't room enough for a thought between them.

X X X X X

"Tell me about the ring." Bella had unzipped her jacket, tucking her gloveless left hand –still clasped in Edward's – inside. Her body was a column of heat against his chest, the cooler metal of the ring, and her chilled fingers, pressing over his heart.

"It was my mother's mother's." Edward rubbed his thumb gently over the inlaid pattern, snug under the last knuckle on her ring finger. "Her people came from the Old Country, so I'm guessing it had actually been in the family for much longer. My mother wouldn't wear it – 'too pagan,' she said. But she did tell me that I might 'find the right time, and a girl of my own' someday. And, of course, she was right." He rested his chin on the top of Bella's head. "It's funny, the things I remember. I couldn't tell you if my father's eyes were brown or blue, but I know for a fact that he always left the spoon out of the sugar bowl, and that he couldn't, for the life of him, keep a pair of gloves."

Bella's giggle was muffled in his coat.

"And I know they would have liked you very much, if they ever could have met you."

Her arm wrapped tight around his waist, a warm band of comfort against that cold sliver of regret.

"Maybe, someday . . ." she whispered against his chest.

"Maybe," he agreed, just as quietly.

But before the somber air could settle around them, the neighboring hillside came alive, as a loud, long horn counted the midnight hour, and multitude tongues of flame poured down the mountain in a joyful cry, like miniature Grendels, except, instead of being harbingers of sorrow and death, they came bearing hope and happiness, and no thought of regret, to the waiting crowds below.

X X X X X

For a long time they watched the lights, until the mountain slopes were once again dark, and the village glowed peacefully, nestled in the vale between.

It was Bella who broke the silence.

"I have something for you, too." She looked up at Edward, excitement brightening her tear-streaked face.

"What? Bella . . . " They had not exchanged gifts at Christmas by mutual agreement.

"It's not, well –" Bella rummaged throuhg her coat, reaching into a pocket sewn into a lining.

Edward heard the telltale crackle and rustle of paper as she pulled out a worn letter size accordion folder. The twist strap was gone, and the whole works was held together with string. "Here."

Bella shoved the whole thing unceremoniously in his hand, and looked at him anxiously.

It was surprisingly heavy, and it smelled like oil and old exhaust.

"What is –?"

"Just open it, okay?" Bella bounced nervously on her heels.

Edward pulled the flap and the entire works burst open like a piñata. Sheets upon sheets of folded paper, wrinkled receipts, and carbon copies fanned out in his hands.

_What in the world?_

Beside him, Bella was grinning maniacally.

"Look, look!"

Her eagerness rubbing off on him, Edward started thumbing through the envelope. Parts receipts, schematics, and brochures slipped through his fingers, all bearing the same words in the heading: _Jaguar._

_Jaguar_

_Jaguar_

_Jaguar_

The name skipped by over and over until he flipped to the final pocket, and pulled out something he had never expected to see again.

Softened with age, and smelling faintly of grease and hydraulic fluid, was a folded piece of paper stamped with the official seal of the State of New York.

He opened it, rubbing his thumb over the faded signature under the heading "Transfer of Ownership."

_Anthony Masen_.

An alias.

His alias.

From the only time when the farce had truly been a success, when he had not needed to pretend to be someone, something he was not – someone who belonged.

"You didn't . . . " he breathed.

"No. I didn't." Bella smiled at him gleefully. "Everyone did."

Her fingers were blistering against his skin as she shut his gaping mouth.

"In so many ways we are alike, Edward. We believe we don't belong – that we don't deserve to be loved, that we're always on the outside. But it's not true."

Bella dug through her pockets, and Edward heard the unmistakable clink of car keys. The smooth, oblong bits of metal were effortlessly familiar as she pressed them into his palm.

"Your family loves you, Edward. Let them love you."

Edward looked musingly at the worn keys. "How did you -?"

"I found a picture of you in one of the albums in you room. You looked so happy then. And I remembered the story you told, how you said you felt like you belonged. So I showed it to Rose and she was able to track it down, and Jasper talked the owners into selling. He's very . . . persuasive." She plucked the paperwork easily out of his surprised grasp, and plucked something out of it. "Here."

That something was a photograph, but not one of his. The lighting was off, dark shadows barely pierced by a flash, the garish light stark and sterile against mounds of detritus – cardboard boxes, dust, broken things long forgotten. Beneath it all, Edward could just barely make out the long sweeping lines of the Jaguar's hood, as the car crouched under the odds and ends piled upon it.

"The man you sold it to gave it to his son as a graduation present. He drove it into the ground. The motor's fried, and the clutch is toast – again – and somehow the kid managed to fuck up the steering, but the old man never had the heart to sell it. So it's been rusting away in a barn out in Ohio for the last thirty years."

Even in the darkness, Edward could see the flaking chrome on the bumper, and the telltale red brown that marred the once shiny gunmetal gray surface.

"When I bought the Mustang I wanted to remake myself. I was ashamed of how – how easily _I _was broken. It was loud, and dangerous and fast, and it was the first time I'd ever done something for me. And somewhere in there, in all that grease and noise, I found the courage to be _me_, and to like who I'd become."

The glossy surface of the photograph winked up at him, a mirror, as Bella seemed to peer effortlessly through his thoughts and reflect them all back at him.

"We're very much alike, you know. It's not the thing itself – it's the knowing, the believing that we're worth it that keeps us from being happy. So maybe this," Bella squeezed the keys in his hand, "this can be the way you start over."

A breeze was building, scouring the low-lying clouds out of the trees and into the sky, swaddling the mountaintops in milky white robes. It whipped the loose strands of Bella's hair into their faces, cradling them both in gentle entreaty.

"Only one of us ever left the woods. It's time for you to leave the forest, Edward. It's time for you to come home."

The first smattering of snowflakes caught in their hair, and in Edward's eyelashes, blurring his vision; and he felt the truth of her words in his bones; and the snow covered rocks he stood upon seemed to shift, as the many fragments of his life heaved, and then settled together.

"Only if you go with me," he murmured, pulling Bella gently into his arms, pressing his lips to her temple. "There is no home for me without you."

X X X X X

"What am I going to do about Jake?" Bella stared at the mess of papers strewn in her lap, as though somewhere within the contents of her thesis she might find the answer.

Edward drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. They were once again on the road, somewhere above the Idaho Panhandle, the wintry landscape whipping by them as they made their way steadily east, before the long, leisurely turn back down into Montana.

If he were being honest, Edward would have told Bella that her dog was the least of his concerns; that the prospect of "a word" with Dr. Reyerson was what had him shaking in his metaphorical boots. Even with the space of a month, and the luxury of a few thousand miles between them, the final, opaque look of disdain the good doctor had bestowed upon him still made Edward squirm.

But Edward knew that Jake had been a friend when he could not, had cherished her, protected her in her loneliness as only a dog could, and that he owed that simple dedication as much courtesy as he was able to give.

"I don't know," he said at last. "He will do his best by you because that is what he knows. But, and I think maybe your wolf-friend Jacob didn't tell you, there is a natural antipathy between my kind and wolves – _all_ wolves."

Bella looked at him in puzzlement, and Edward sighed, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"We. Don't. Hunt. Wolves," he elaborated. "_Canis lupus_ and all their descendants are the single most repellant thing to our kind. In _any_ form. And whether they know it or not, it's that all consuming disgust that your Shapeshifter friends have capitalized on."

"So when Jacob told me that vampires stink –?"

"The feeling is beyond mutual, I assure you," Edward finished for her.

"But why wolves?"

"Why vampires?" Edward retorted dryly. "You do realize this conversation is ludicrous on multiple levels."

"Yes, Socrates, thank you." Bella leveled him a sour look. "But unlike a certain other person in this car, I'm willing to adopt a stance of suspended disbelief in order to further my investigation."

"You're willing to do a number of things in the name of science, I'm discovering."

"Yes, I – _ugh, Edward!" _

Bella whacked his arm with her thesis draft, and Edward snickered.

They drove on in silence for a several minutes while Bella fumed and Edward fizzed.

At long last, Edward was able to compose himself enough to offer her what comfort he could.

"Truthfully, Bella, you would know better than I how Jake will tolerate me. That day with the deer was a bit . . . extraordinary. There was blood on the air and you were afraid, and Jake knew it as well as I did. And we were interfering with his hunt. But I can't say with any certainty that that won't happen again."

His eyes slid from the road ahead to hers.

"What I can promise you is that I would no sooner harm your dog than I would a single hair on your head, and whether or not he believes it is entirely up to him."

_If only Dr. Reyerson could be so easily convinced._

X X X X X

If he'd been asked, Dr. Reyerson wouldn't have been able to say exactly what it was that made him abandon his curriculum revisions for his current position at his office window.

Nor would he have been able to say which he found more entertaining: the look on Edward Cullen's face – equal parts fastidious disgust, and wary determination, mixed with what appeared to be an apparent urge to vomit – or Jake's very real impersonation of a reluctant table, with a manifestation of all the gravitational properties of lead – with Isabella in the middle, doing her damned best trying to press them together like two polarized magnets.

But if there was one thing Dr. Reyerson knew for certain, it was the look of a woman well bedded. And gazing down at the scene unfolding below his office window he could see it in Isabella Swan. Her movements – despite the current situation – had a lazy, languid quality about them, as though she were a marionette and her strings had suddenly been cut.

And he had no doubt as to who had made her look so.

He would have seriously considered going down and punching the Cullen boy squarely in the face on account of her honor were it not for the way the young man stared back at her – oblivious to the fact that Bella was dragging her belligerently reluctant canine monstrosity directly toward him. The awkward, anxious look appeared on the young man's face when he had been in Isabella's presence before was gone, replaced with an expression of pure wonderment and adoration – as if she had shown him the face of God, and now he could not see it enough.

Dr. Reyerson snorted, remembering when the same look had been plastered on his own face as a teenager, after a night of awkward fumbling in the back of his father's enormous Packard.

_I'll be damned._

"So that's how it is," he muttered softly.

As if he had somehow heard him, the Cullen boy swiveled his red headed gaze over and up to the third story window of Dr. Reyerson's office. Their eyes held for a long moment. Dr. Reyerson could have sworn he nodded, but he was not certain, because Jake chose that moment to lean forward and sneeze wetly in the young man's face.

X X X X X

Edward could feel the ripples of disgust from the bottom of his toes to the tips of his hair as the hot, thick strands of dog saliva slid slowly down his cheek.

It didn't help that Bella was fairly braying like a donkey in his ear.

"Oh, Edward, I think Jake _likes_ you!"

He tried to smile, she was laughing from relief after all, but the movement brought the trickling sheen of dog slobber all too close to the corner of his mouth. Instead he settled for leaning back as far as he could, which resulted in the offending mess sliding down into his collar instead.

'Like' seemed to be a questionable word. The affectionate creature in question sat stiffly on Bella's boots, radiating disapproval, forcing her to reach forward unnaturally as she wiped Edward's face with her shirtsleeve.

At the sound of Edward's begrudging "Thanks," Jake began to growl, lowly.

"Knock it of, Jake," Bella muttered, kneeing him gently in the ribs. "He's not an enemy and you know it."

Jake huffed for Bella's benefit, but Edward knew the matter was far from resolved.

He was about to say as much, when he was interrupted by the screech of an old double-hung window opening and the bellowing voice of his own worst-case scenario.

"Swan!" Dr. Reyerson's voice echoed in the small courtyard for all and sundry to hear. "Get yourself and your dog up here. That thesis draft won't read itself. And bring that Lothario with you." The window slammed down again and Edward winced.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the very tip of Jake's tail twitch.

_Asshole._

X X X X X

Edward entered Dr. Reyerson's office with the same feeling of anxiety and dread as he'd had over a month before.

He was greeted with the same feeling of silence that was not silence, as Bella's mentor fixed him with his steel gray eyes, and pared him down in his microscopic gaze to his barest, most shameful molecules.

There was no handshake, no stilted dishonest pleasantries, just the barest tilt of a head toward the empty chair by the desk.

Edward sat.

Without further preamble Dr. Reyerson opened the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a bottle of Glendfiddich and two glasses.

"Scotch?" Dr. Reyerson's tone brooked no opposition.

He slapped a glass in front of Edward, the amber liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

Edward grimaced. This was not going to be pleasant.

**For all of you who have waited on this - thank you. All your notes, and bits of encouragement have kept me going in spite of myself, and I can't say thank you enough. As for the next update, if it doesn't come by the New Year, I can't have boozecakes, so you bet your fannies (posterior cleavage outside the US) I'm working on it. Plus, I've been dying to write the next scene for a very, very long time. I promise there won't be another six months of waiting. I can't wait that long myself. :)**

**The poem is John Donne's "A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning." Under the circumstances, I found it highly appropriate.**

**And now, for interactive purposes, when my husband proposed, he never asked me to marry him, just handed me the ring and said, "put it on." (suave, I know). If you're married, how were you proposed to? If not, how would you like to be proposed to? Aaaand, go!**


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